A Descent into Hell

by WildeD95

Summary:

Set after the events of The Winter Soldier, a simple reconnaissance mission turns into a desperate fight for survival for Steve and Bucky.
Captured by Hydra scientists and faced with unimaginable horrors, the two men will need all their strength and courage to endure what might well be their most terrifying ordeal yet...

Can be read as Gen or pre-slash. However you wish. :)

Inspired by the Alien/Predator franchise.

Notes:

This story is set after the events of The Winter Soldier, however being canon-divergent, Fury remains Director and Bucky, instead of fleeing, has returned with Steve to New York and the Avengers Tower.

Our story takes place a few months later...

Chapter 1: A New Mission

“So, Steve,” said Bucky, standing in the doorway of the room he’d finally located the punk in, “wanna explain exactly what it is you’re doing, pal?”

He smirked as the punk in question jumped, his back straightening in sudden startlement, but Bucky's grin fell away as Steve turned – swinging around on the swivel chair he’d been perched on – and he saw the tablet in the blond man’s hand.

Well, well. Just as he’d suspected.

Bucky’s jaw tightened in annoyance, but he swallowed it down. Wasn’t Steve’s fault, afterall. At least, Bucky didn’t think so. His eyes narrowed in sudden suspicion. “Ste -” but before he could even finish the word, he was interrupted by the clatter of the tablet, as it was dropped unceremoniously onto a table, and Steve hastily stood up.

“You okay, Buck? You need something?”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Jeez, Steve. I’m fine.” He stepped into the room. “So this is the Tower’s famous Mission Control, is it?” He studied the assorted screens and terminals that filled the vast space. “Not bad. Hydra would have killed for this – literally, of course – though they wouldn’t have approved of the colour scheme.” He side-eyed Steve. “Not enough dull grey or dark, depressing black for their taste.”

Instead of laughing at what Bucky thought was pretty solid humour, a sudden softness filled his friend’s eyes. “I’ve never heard you joke about them before.”

“God. There you go again.” Bucky paused, then winked playfully. “Not that I don’t appreciate your earnestness, Stevie. It’s sweet.”

“You’re right,” Steve snorted. “You are fine.”

Bucky grinned.

With a smirk, Steve sat back down. He reached out to pick up the tablet again, but before he could so much as blink, Bucky had grabbed it and leaning against the side of Steve’s chair, he switched the screen on. “Can I?”, but without waiting for a reply, he began to read the report.  

“Well, I was gonna say, as if you have to ask - but why waste my breath?”

Steve laughed at the rude gesture thrown his way, and then there was silence for a long moment, broken only by the gentle tapping of Bucky’s fingers as he scrolled down the screen.

A few minutes later, Bucky turned it off. He looked at Steve. “Okay, so that’s a no then,” he said decisively, and he placed the tablet on the table with a defiant thud. “I thought so, but I just wanted to be sure.”

Steve blinked at him in confusion. “What’s a no?”

Bucky shrugged at the tablet. “You going on that mission,” and he stood up. “Come on, let’s go to our floor. Better vibes.” A sudden thought crossed his mind. “Or, maybe we’ll go down to the gym. I could show you those moves Rumlow taught me. The only useful thing the asshole ever did. Either way, let’s not waste any more time in here.” He stepped over to the door, but then turned back with a frown at Steve’s distinct lack of movement.

“I’m not seeing your legs walking, pal.”

“As much as I appreciate what you’re trying to do,” and Steve grinned, “you can’t steamroll this one, Buck.”

There was a choke of indignation. “Steamroll? When have I ever?”

“When it comes to what you think’s best for me, Bucky? When have you never?”

Bucky pursed his lips. “Maybe,” he conceded.

Steve smiled. “I’m not complaining. But it’s not gonna work here, pal.” He waved a hand at the tablet. “This one comes from Fury.” He looked back at his friend. “And, anyway, you read the file. It’s a nothing mission. You really don’t have to worry about me.”

Bucky scoffed. “I always have to worry about you, punk, but that’s not the point. You’re right, it’s a nothing mission. So why you?”

“Why not?”

“Why not?” Bucky frowned in sudden annoyance. “Because you just got back from a mission, that’s why not, Steve. Three weeks in Sudan, wasn’t it?” He stepped away from the door, and walked back over to his friend. “And 72 hours before that? It was London. Right?” He scowled. “Sorry, it’s hard for me to keep up, since you’re literally all over the place.”

“It’s alright, Buck.”

“No,” snapped Bucky. “It’s not alright.”

Glowering, he turned away again, and paced across the room, his hands clenched. “When’s the last time you had a break, huh? A proper break?” he added, twisting back around and stopping Steve’s oh-so predictable response with a glare. “When’s the last time you had a full night’s sleep? Or a decent meal?” He stormed back over to Steve, jabbing him in the chest with his finger. “It’s unacceptable.”

“It’s the job, Buck.”

“Yeah?” Bucky snorted. “Like we’ve not heard that justification before.” Suddenly, he sighed, and he threw himself down on the chair. He looked at Steve. “I get that it’s the job, and I get that since The Triskelion, the pile of shit you’ve gotta deal with has exponentially increased, but you gotta take a break, pal. You’re not a machine.”

For a moment, Steve didn’t reply, and then he sat back. “You’re right.”

Bucky looked at him in surprise. “Wow. I’m not gonna lie. I was expecting way more of a fight over this.”

Steve chuckled, but after a moment, it faded into a sigh. “You’re right,” he said again. He looked at Bucky. “But that doesn’t change the fact that since the Helicarriers were destroyed, there’s work that needs to be done. Things that need to be righted. Like Fury said, ‘a lot of rats didn't go down with the ship’ and I can’t ignore that, Buck. So, I gotta deal with it. But it won’t be for much longer, and when I’m done, I promise I’ll take a break.” He nudged Bucky. “Maybe we’ll even book that vacation you’ve been going on about.”

“Fine.”

“Fine?”

“I get it.”

Steve blinked. “Really?”

“But this next mission? I’m going with you.”

There was startled silence.

“You heard me, pal. I’m going with you. That Sudanese operation? You came back looking like something the cat dragged in. And the mission in South America a couple of months ago? Steve, you were practically dead on your feet. And don’t even get me started on London. You had bags under your eyes so big I could have put my groceries in them.” Bucky leaned forward. “I’m not disputing you’re needed, Steve. I know that you’ve gotta get out there and deal with the Hydra shitshow. But it’s also obvious to me that no-one, not Fury, not your Avenger buddies, not your ex-SHIELD agents, none of them, are looking out for you. Not properly.” He patted Steve’s arm. “Not that it’s their fault, of course. It’s hard work looking after a giant-sized dork.”

“Idiot.” But Bucky could hear the half-heartedness in the retort, for already Steve was shaking his head, and his mouth was opening, and Bucky grinned fondly. He knew exactly what the punk was going to say.

“You about to tell me I don’t need to go out there again, pal?” he asked, smirking at the defiance in Steve’s eyes. “That I deserve peace and quiet after all those years with Hydra? You told me all that before – the first time I offered to go with you.”

“And I’m saying it again.”

“Yeah?” Bucky leaned forward. “Well, exactly how much peace and quiet do you think I’m getting knowing you’re out there, a hair’s breadth away from getting yourself killed, day in, day out?”

“No-one’s getting killed, Bucky.”

“Steve,” and Bucky put his hand on the blond man’s shoulder, “I’m ready.” He nodded as Steve bit his lip. “I am. You heard Stark. The trigger words are gone. The memories are back. I’m ready.”

Steve stared at him, “You’re sure?” and Bucky felt a sudden warmth at the glint of hope in his friend's eyes.

“Certain. And anyway,” and Bucky patted his arm, before dropping his hand away, “either I come with you or the mission’s off.” He smirked at Steve’s spluttering. “Grumble all you like, pal, but you’re not going out there again without me. Take it or leave it.”

“God, I’d forgotten how stubborn you are.”

“And I’d forgotten what an idiot you are, but hey, you can’t pick family.”

“Punk.”

“Jerk.”

Steve stared at him a moment longer, and then, grinning widely, he nodded.

Bucky smiled.

---

“So, as you read,” Steve said, projecting the tablet’s file onto the high-resolution screen at the far end of the room, “Intelligence have identified another Hydra base. In the forests of Moldova, this time.” He paused. “You know it, Buck?”

Bucky shook his head, studying the satellite image of a vast, sprawling facility.

“Well, it’s unusually large, even by Hydra’s standards, so Fury's interested in this one. It’ll be a reconnaissance mission - I’d have only taken a small team anyway, but since you’re worth God knows how many agents, it’ll just be the two of us.”

“Good.”

Steve grinned, and then he clicked on to the next file. “Anyway, they’ve been monitoring it via satellite, but there’s been no sign of any movement.”

“Abandoned?”

“Yeah, Intelligence reports none of the remaining factions have returned to it, not since the Triskelion.” Steve shrugged. “So, if the intel’s solid, it’ll be a walk in, walk out operation.”

“Strange then that you’d be picked for this. Hardly sounds like a job for a super-soldier.”

Steve looked sheepish. “Truthfully, I think Fury would have sent Nat and Clint, but they’re tied up with the Indonesian thing, and Tony’s doing whatever Tony does, so - ”

“So, it got put on you. Again.” Bucky crossed his arms. “Pal, when this thing’s over, I’m gonna have a long and productive talk with Fury.”

“I feel sorry for the guy already.”

Smirking, Bucky turned back to the file. “So Moldova. And an empty Hydra base.” He looked at Steve. “We should be done in less than 24 hours.”

“If not sooner.” Steve stepped up beside Bucky, and slung an arm around his shoulders. “In and out, pal.”

“And then you’ll take that break.”

“And then I’ll take that break.”

Chapter 2: The Moldovan Base

It was into a heavy stillness that the Quinjet landed, and a dark gloom that suffocated the spaces between the tall, oppressive pine trees of the Moldovan forest. The two men could almost taste the claustrophobia in the air, as they stepped out of the aircraft and into the cold, grey landscape.

“I’ll give it to Hydra,” said Bucky, staring at the bleakness in front of them, “they sure cornered the market on miserable and depressing real estate.”

Beside him, Steve laughed. “You’re not wrong, pal.” He looked down at the map in his hands. “So, looks like we’re about 2 miles from the base, and I’m guessing,” he added, with a slight grin, “it’s gonna be in that direction.” He pointed to a set of tyre tracks at the edge of the clearing, carving a conspicuous trail deep into the forest.

“Wow. With observational skills like that, it’s no wonder you’re the Captain.”

“Jerk,” Steve snorted, and Bucky smirked.

Still smiling, Steve picked up his shield and stepped forward. He looked back at his friend. “Ready, pal?”

Holding his finger up, Bucky checked his holstered Skorpion, and the knives sheathed in his belt. Finally, he dropped the automatic rifle slung over his shoulder into his hands. “Ready.”

---

The base certainly looked abandoned, thought Steve, as they approached the steel mesh fence, running around the perimeter of the long, grey building, twenty minutes later. Leaves and foliage had drifted up against the chain-link, and already rust was beginning to erode the bolts and screws of the fence’s posts.

Beyond it, the forecourt was empty, save for a vehicle or two – their deflated tyres and cracked windscreens adding to the picture of desertion, compounded by dismantled security cameras, fixed, at liberal intervals, across the face of the facility.

There was a checkpoint station by the front gate, and Steve peered through its filthy window. Piles of papers, files and folders lay discarded on a dust-covered table, a single computer terminal sat amid the mess.

“Looks like they left in a hurry,” Steve said, turning back to Bucky. “They haven’t done their usual clear-up.”

Bucky pursed his lips. “Yeah, gate’s unlocked too,” and he shrugged a shoulder at the entry-point. He stared at Steve. “No clean-up? Unlocked gates? Never knew that to be their style.”

Steve shook his head, slowly. “Me either.”

It was with a heightened sense of caution that they crossed the forecourt.

A moment later, they were in the dark shadow of the base, and now that they were closer, they could see that its blast door – reinforced and fourteen inches thick at least – was partially open.

They looked at each other.

Holding the shield a little closer to his chest, Steve stepped forward. “Cover me, Buck,” he said quietly, and he heaved open the door.

---

Darkness greeted them.

With a slight huffing of breath, Steve and Bucky rolled back the blast door entirely so that the dim morning light could flood the room behind it. It revealed an immense hanger, ominous and intimidating in its size. There were markings and oil stains on the concrete floor, but there was nothing else in the huge space, save for a couple of broken crates, and a bundle of tarpaulins crumpled up in a corner.

“If we flew 5 thousand miles for a pile of timber, I’m really gonna let Fury hear about it,” grumbled Bucky, ripping the lid off one of the crates to reveal, as he had suspected, absolutely nothing.

“I thought he was already hearing about it,” reminded Steve, a glint of mischief in his eyes.

“Yeah, well I’ll add it to my presentation.”

Steve snorted. “Come on, Buck,” and the two men moved down the room.

At its far end there was a small, nondescript door, and as they reached it, Bucky flicked on the flashlight mounted to his automatic. He looked at Steve. Nodding his head, the blond man grasped the handle and then with one swift, abrupt move, he pulled it back. In the next instant, Bucky was through, his weapon already sweeping the blackness in front of him. “Clear,” he said, the beam of light revealing a small room. He stared at its conspicuous emptiness, sourly. “This is starting to get boring.”

“Hey. Boring’s good,” replied Steve. “We like boring.”

There was another door on the opposite wall, and crossing the room in only a few strides, Steve pulled it open.

Behind it was a long, white-washed corridor, a single, metallic door at its other end. With wary steps at its confining, windowless walls, Bucky stepped across the threshold and into the passage. At his movement, there was a sudden, soft humming buzz, and a bulb above his head flickered on, and then another further along, and another, until the whole hallway was illuminated by a row of hard, sterile fluorescent lights.

“So, there’s still an operating power-source in this place,” noted Steve quietly, glancing at his friend. “Maybe there’s gonna be something worth checking out, after all, Buck.”

“Maybe.”

Pausing only to switch the automatic’s flashlight off, the two men moved down the corridor, Bucky’s gun clutched tightly in his hands, and Steve’s shield covering their chests. Reaching the end of the passageway, Steve grasped the handle of the door.

It was locked.

“Looks like Fury was maybe righ-”

The lights went out.

With a clang, the door at the other end slammed shut, and then before either man could even begin to react, a loud hiss filled the air, and a putrid smell flooded the corridor.

“Gas!” shouted Bucky.

Clamping his mouth shut, Steve threw his shoulder against the door. There was a groan of distressed metal, but it didn’t open. He hit it again and again, and then suddenly Bucky was beside him, and his left arm was whirring, and the door rang with a resounding thud as he struck it with his fist. Steve threw himself against it for a fourth time, as Bucky’s arm smashed against it once more, and in a sudden screech of metal, the hinges tore away, and the door flew backwards.

Stumbling forwards, and dragging each other through the splintered doorway, the two men staggered out into the dark room behind it, coughing and choking, their eyes watering and their heads pulsing in agony.

“Well, it’s been a while, big guy.”

Steve and Bucky sprang up.

A sudden, cold light flooded the room, dispersing the shadows and illuminating a tall, dark-haired figure stood in the centre of the room.

“Surprised to see me, gents?”

It was a man, and as Steve studied the face – burnt and twisted and scarred – he was unable to hide the flash of surprise that filled his eyes.

“I know, I know. I thought I was dead too.” The man smiled – his burnt lip curling up grotesquely against his teeth. “That’s what usually happens when a goddamn building falls on top of you.”

“Rumlow.”

The man smiled again, a wide distorted grin that pulled on the shrivelled flaps of skin that were once his cheeks and caused his withered eyelids to twist into sickening sinews of burnt tissue. “In the flesh.”

“What’s left of it.”

Rumlow’s blood-shot eyes flashed in sudden unconcealed hatred, and he flushed a dark red. “No thanks to your so very righteous Captain America,” he spat at Bucky. He turned to Steve. “I owe you one, you son of a bitch.”

“Is that what this is about?”

“No.” And the flip back to levity was disconcerting to watch. Rumlow paused, then sniggering, pinched his fingers together. “Well, maybe a little.”

Steve stepped forward. “The intel? That come from one of yours?”

Rumlow smirked. “Fury might want to take another look at his precious agents. Seems like he didn’t weed out all the rats.”

There was a soft whir, as Bucky’s arm came up, the automatic rifle clasped in his hand. “Whatever this is – we’re done.” He glanced at Steve, bemused. “Never figured him for an idiot. His mind must have fried too. Gas and a locked door?” He turned back to Rumlow, with a deriding sneer. “You really thought that was gonna take us down?”

“In my defence,” replied Rumlow, and he raised his hands, “I wasn’t expecting both of you. Thought it’d be just the Cap here and a bunch of useless lapdogs.” He shrugged. “Captain Asshole would have been so distracted in trying to save them all, it’d have made everything a hell of a lot easier. But what a win,” he added, a grin splitting his face, causing the jagged grooves in his skin to stretch and widen, “in getting two for the price of one.”

Steve stared at him, coldly. “Bucky’s right. We’re done here.” He looked back at the corridor. “I hope you can hold your breath, because we’re leaving, Rumlow, and you’re coming with us.”

“You’re right, we are leaving,” Rumlow’s grin widened. “But you’ve got it the wrong way round, big guy. I’m not coming with you, you’re coming with me!”

His voice rising to a shout, and his eyes wild, Rumlow suddenly leapt backwards. In the next instant, a wall – transparent and thick – dropped down from the ceiling, hitting the floor with a dull thud, and splitting the room in half, with Rumlow on one side, and the two soldiers on the other.

Sneering at the glass barrier, and wholly undeterred, Bucky stepped forward, his left hand already curling into a fist, but even as he was drawing it back, there was a sudden explosion of sound – a horrible ear-piercing cacophony of high-pitched, high-frequency screams, and with a cry, Steve and Bucky clapped their hands to their ears.

The noise grew louder and louder and louder, and the two men pressed their hands more tightly against their heads, their mouths opening wide in screams of their own, their knees buckling in agony.

But then, even as his body shook, Steve dragged himself back up, and with torment in every movement, he forced his hand away from his head, and picking up the shield where it had fallen at his feet, he flung it at the wall.

It rebounded off it, harmless and ineffectual.

“Reinforced quartz and transparent titanium!” Rumlow shouted, his eyes filled with an insane glee as he watched Steve stumble backwards. “We stole the formula from -”

But Steve had turned away, was dragging Bucky up. “Come on!” he screamed over the noise, and Bucky was nodding, and now he was dragging Steve too, and they staggered towards the doorway leading out to the corridor.

Though it seemed impossible, the noise increased as they entered the passageway, and they were forced to let go of each other, slapping their hands to their heads again, and leaving a dripping trail of blood, as their noses and ears suddenly ruptured. In drunken, excruciating pain they veered down the hallway.

There was a hiss, and once more the poisonous odour of gas filled the air, and Steve and Bucky bit down on their lips, and held their breaths, but now their heads felt like they were exploding, and their eyes were red, weeping pools of suffering, and their whole bodies were shaking at the intensity of the torture.

And then they were at the door, but it was locked. In a haze of pain, Bucky brought up his fist, but it was shaking, and when he hit it, the door did not move.

There was another hiss, and now the gas was thicker, and the agony in their heads greater, and Bucky slipped to the floor.

With a soundless cry, Steve threw himself at the door, but even as he lurched forward, he could feel the weakness in his limbs, and the door remained closed. He looked down, and Bucky’s eyes were shut, and in horrified terror at what that might mean, Steve fell to his knees beside him, and reached out a trembling hand.

There was another hiss, and suddenly Steve was choking and coughing, and then he could no longer fight the inevitable, and he slid to the ground.

It might have been seconds or minutes or hours later, for trapped in his blackhole of pain, Steve had no semblance of reality, but without warning, and from one moment to the next, the noise suddenly cut off.

He shuddered in intense relief, but the pain did not abate – and darkness encroached on him, flickering at the corners of his eyes, until he could feel it overcoming him, smothering him, consuming him, and he was falling into it, down, down, down...

A voice suddenly pulled him back.

“Big guy. Can you hear me?” And the voice was cruel and gleeful and mocking. “I just want you to know. This time? It’s personal.”

Then the darkness rushed back in, suffocating his mind and body, and crumpling into a heap, Steve knew no more.

Chapter 3: A Juxtaposition

Bucky opened his eyes.

A light flickered above him. A single bulb in a grey ceiling. Cold and sterile. He stared at it, transfixed. It flickered again, and Bucky blinked.

With a sudden scramble of legs, he heaved himself up from the cold, concrete floor he was lying on and spun around, taking in his surroundings.

He was in a small, grey-walled room. There was no window, and as Bucky stepped over to the door, he could see that it had no hinges, and no handle on his side. He turned back around. There was a bed, if it could be called that, for it was nothing more than a metallic slab – built into the floor - with a blanket thrown over it. There was also a discoloured pit latrine in the corner of the room. Bucky sneered at the redundancy of both toilet and bed. He wouldn’t be staying long enough to necessitate their use. There was nothing else in the room.

And no blond-haired punk.

“Steve!”

There was no reply, no response, but Bucky wasn’t waiting for one. Already he was striding back to the door, and with a snarl he threw his shoulder against it.

There was a sudden blue light, a buzzing crackling in the air and a surge of electricity arced across Bucky’s arm. 

He cried out, his spine arching at the agonising current, and he fell to the floor.

“Oh dear. I wouldn’t try that again. You might really hurt yourself.”

Bucky lurched to his feet, ignoring the burning tingling running up and down his body. His hand flew to his belt, but of course he had been stripped of it. And now that his attention was drawn to it, he realised he had been stripped of everything else too - even his socks and boots, and his favoured leather jacket – everything, but his pants and shirt.

He dismissed it from his mind, for he had more pressing concerns.

Steve.

He looked around the room, but he could see no obvious camera or speaker.

“Who the hell are you?” he spat, the disembodied voice still ringing in his ear.

“Of course. How remiss of me.” The voice sounded genuinely distraught, and Bucky suppressed a sudden shiver at the incongruity. “Please, do forgive me. Turn around, Sergeant Barnes, and I’ll introduce myself.”

Bucky turned back to the door, subtly shifting his legs and bracing himself.

A soft, lilting laughter rang out.

“Oh, how delightfully antiquated. The wall, my dear boy, the wall.”

Even as Bucky was turning around, the wall opposite the bed suddenly shimmered, and Bucky stared as it seemed to disappear, revealing another room – its contents obscured by darkness - behind it. He stepped towards it cautiously, and reached out a hand.

“The good old, dependable reinforced quartz and transparent titanium,” the voice spoke out again, as Bucky’s fingers tapped on the glass. “I believe you’re acquainted with the formula?” The voice was full of pride. “The transformation from wall to window is of course merely the work of a discreet hologram projector – my own little fun addition – but nothing, I suppose, to write home ab-”

Bucky smashed a fist against the glass.

But as in the base in Moldova, and where were they now?, Bucky wondered, nothing happened.

“It really isn’t worth wasting your time on trying to break through the wall, Sergeant Barnes,” as Bucky hit it again, and there was a tutting sigh, “you’ll find it’s quite impossible.”

“I thought you were going to introduce yourself,” snapped Bucky, and he strained his eyes attempting to dispel the gloom in the other room.

“But, of course.”

And the light in the room switched on.

A tall, thin man, clothed in a white lab coat, was stood on the other side of the glass. He moved closer, and Bucky studied him carefully. He looked to be in his mid-fifties, but Bucky couldn’t be sure: he seemed aged beyond his years, for his face, gaunt and sallow, was unnaturally pale and deeply lined, and his hair – oily and sparse – was slicked back tightly against his scalp, accentuating a wrinkled forehead. His lips curled back to reveal nicotine-stained teeth, and glancing down at his hands, Bucky saw that the fingertips were similarly yellowed.  

“Sergeant Barnes, a genuine pleasure,” and the man smiled.

“Where’s Steve?”

The man smiled again. “All in good time, my dear boy, all in good time,” and he pulled over a stool and sat down on it, facing Bucky. The soldier looked past him, and into the room. It seemed to be a laboratory, though to Bucky’s eye, it was unusually sparse, and had none of the equipment he associated with such a setting. Instead, the counters and lab benches were empty, save for a single tray, its contents hidden by a black cloth. There was one other item – a large, bulky fixture on the floor – but it too was covered, and Bucky stared back at the man.

“Where’s Steve?”

The man frowned. “Really, this repetition is quite tedious.” He huffed, straightening the cuffs of his sleeves. Then he looked up, and with a deep breath, he smiled again, but to Bucky’s satisfaction, he could see the irritation still lurking in his eyes.

“So, Sergeant Barnes, perhaps you’re wondering why you’re here? Allow me to explain.” The man leaned forward, and he shook his head. “Firstly, I must apologise. It was all a mistake, of course, made by that buffoon, Rumlow. You were never meant to be brought into all this, but then again,” and the man shrugged, “I suppose you didn’t leave him much of a choice.” He waved a hand towards Bucky’s prison. “Of course, we have had to secure you, as uncivilised as such behaviour is.” Clasping his hands together, the man nodded. “Yes, we have had no choice, I’m afraid. We are all well aware of your, ahem, affection for Captain Rogers, and I daresay you’ll be somewhat put out with our plans for him, so for the sake of all parties, I have agreed to your confinement. I do hope you understand.”

Bucky had lost the end of the sentence, for he could hear nothing over the instant hammering of his heart and the roar of blood in his ears. “What plans?” A sudden rage consumed him, and he smashed his fist against the glass again. “What plans?!” he shouted, and he was choked by the overwhelming confliction of fury and terror. “What plans?! If you dare touch - ”

“Calm yourself, my dear boy! Calm yourself, and I shall tell you. It really is no secret.”

Bucky knew he had no choice but to do as the man said, and he forced down his rage. There was nothing he could do for Steve, trapped as he was, but if he gathered sufficient intel, he could find a way out, find Steve, and then he would get them both out of here. Before, before…

“What plans?” he asked again, and he lowered his fist from the wall.

The man beamed and stood up. “Much better, Sergeant Barnes.” He glanced away and Bucky followed his eyeline. He was looking at a clock. He turned back to Bucky. “All shall be revealed shortly, in fact, so I’ll not waste time going over it now when I can do so much more efficiently with a practical explanation.”

“Practical?”

The man smiled widely. “Indeed. I am well-known in my -” A sudden look of abject horror washed over his face, and he held up a hand to his chest. “Oh dear! To think I haven’t yet introduced myself! Where are my manners? Honestly, it is quite unforgivable.” He sat back on the stool, and looked earnestly at Bucky. “My name, my dear boy, is Dr. Samuel Smith.” He grinned. “I suppose my accent has given my heritage away,” and abruptly, his grin fell into a scoff, “but I hold no loyalty to England. It has never been a great admirer of my work, and indeed, it is embarrassingly behind in its sciences. So beholden to its ideals of morality and conscience.” A sudden animated gleam entered the Doctor’s eyes, and Bucky felt a shudder of repulsion as he ran a pale tongue slowly over dry lips. “But I am free of such primitive limitations here. Hydra, my dear, have a vision. They understand. They understand that to make progress, nothing must hinder it – not law, not ethics, not arbitrary lines in the sand. It is only with absolute freedom that advancements can be made.” The Doctor had risen to his feet, and Bucky stared at his reddened face, and the spittle that coated his chin.

“I’ve heard that before,” he said, his controlled tone in contrast to the heightened hysteria of the Doctor’s, “in 1943.” Bucky stared coldly at the man, “And it didn’t work out so well for those madmen.”

A sudden rage filled the man’s eyes. “How dare you compare me to - ?!”

The door of the room opened.

“Steve!”

Pressing himself desperately against the glass, Bucky stared in horror as his friend was pushed into the room. He was lying, still and limp, on a crude version of a hospital trolley, naked save for a pair of thin pants, his limbs secured by thick bands, his eyes closed, and his chest rising and falling in unconsciousness. His head had been shaved, and that, more than anything, frightened Bucky.

“Steve! Steve!” He banged on the glass, again and again, but there was no sign that his friend had heard him. That he had even a flicker of consciousness.

Bucky snarled suddenly at the Doctor, who was now bent over Steve, and lifting his eyelids up and examining his pupils. “Don’t you dare touch him! Don’t you dare! I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you!” But the Doctor waved his words away in minor irritation, and instead looked up at the three men – dressed in black and carrying Koch rifles and pistols – guarding the trolley. “You can unstrap him.” The men hesitated, looking at each other, and the Doctor rolled his eyes, impatiently. “Don’t worry – he won’t wake up. Not yet. Not until I want him to,” and Bucky shouted again as Steve was pulled up off the trolley, and left to sag, like a cut puppet, between two of the men.

“Bring him over here,” said the Doctor, and then Steve was being dragged – his legs trailing behind him – to the fixture in the middle of the room. The Doctor grabbed its cover, and then he paused, and he turned to Bucky. He looked at him kindly, and again Bucky was filled with repulsion. “Don’t be alarmed, Sergeant Barnes, by what you’ll see under here. It’ll all make sense shortly,” and then he ripped the black cloth off.

It was a chair.

It was the chair.

Bucky staggered against the glass. Oh God. Oh God. He felt sick. He could barely think. A thousand memories of pain! pain! pain! assaulted him, consumed him. His feet began to fall from under him, his heart began to beat so agonisingly in his chest, that he clutched his hand to it. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn't - 

They lifted Steve into the chair.

Rage obliterated his fear. 

“No! Don’t you dare! Leave him alone! Leave him alone!”

Bucky smashed his arm against the glass again, threw his whole body against it, but there was no give, not even a shudder, and he knew that it was hopeless. That he could do nothing.

“Stop!” he screamed instead, watching in terror as they strapped Steve down, and lowered the headpiece over his forehead. “Stop!”

The Doctor fiddled with a row of buttons on the panelling of the chair, and Bucky thudded his fist against the glass. “You want a Winter Soldier?! You have one! You have one! Put me in it! But not him! Not him!”

The Doctor turned around and looked in surprise at Bucky. “A Winter Soldier? Oh no.” He stepped up to the glass, and the gleam in his eye was back, and the flickering of his tongue against his lip, and when he spoke, his voice quivered in excitement. “I’m not going to waste such a specimen on that redundant programme.” He looked at Steve. “We do only have one of his type, afterall. No, no. I have something else entirely in mind.” He turned from Bucky, and stepped over to the chair. He held out his hand, and a syringe was placed into it. He spoke again, as he injected the long, sharp needle into Steve’s arm. “He doesn’t know it yet, but I shall elevate him,” the gleam intensified and his voice rose, “I shall elevate him above all his limitations. I shall elevate him -" and the Doctor's voice fell into an awe-struck rasp, "to the status of a god.” Steve’s eyes flickered. “Of course,” and the Doctor stared at Steve intensely, hungrily, possessively, “to achieve such greatness, there must at first be a struggle, there must at first be pain,” he licked his lips again, “and there must at first be complete and utter malleability.”

Steve woke up.

“Steve!”

But even as Steve’s eyes were darting to Bucky’s, the Doctor’s hand was pushing a button, and suddenly there was a high-pitched buzzing in the air, and Steve’s body was convulsing, the veins in his neck were straining, and the nails of his fingers were tearing desperately against the arms of the chair.

But there was no escape.

And then the buzzing intensified. 

And Steve screamed.

And he screamed.

Chapter 4: An Unbearable Agony

Steve screamed.

“You goddamn bastard! Let him go! Let him go!” Bucky smashed his fist against the glass, but only his rage and terror penetrated the wall. “Goddamn you! Goddamn you! Stop!”

Ignoring him entirely, the Doctor pressed another button, and the buzzing increased, and suddenly a thin line of blood began to drip from Steve’s nose, and his screaming intensified.

“You’re killing him!” Bucky’s voice was hoarse. “You’re killing him!”

Without warning, and with a sudden impatient gesture, the Doctor pulled a lever and abruptly the buzzing cut off. With a shuddering jerk, Steve’s body seemed to collapse in on itself, and he lay, utterly limp, on the chair, his chest heaving up and down, and his head hanging lifelessly against the restraints.

“Stev-!”

“Honestly,” snapped the Doctor, cutting off Bucky so loudly that he didn’t know if Steve had heard him, “enough!” But he wasn’t talking to Bucky, he wasn’t even looking at him. He had turned instead to one of the men next to him, a furious fire in his eyes. “Just how on earth, I’d like to know, is anyone supposed to work efficiently around here, with that level of noise going on?!” He pointed scornfully at Steve, and any momentary, brief relief that Bucky had felt a second ago, instantly shattered at the sudden, horrible realisation at exactly why a reprieve had been given.

“Steve!”

But the Doctor was still complaining, and an icy coldness washed over Bucky as he watched the guard open a cabinet door and return with something in his hands.

“This’ll shut him up, Doc.”

“Perfect, Havers, perfect.”

“No!” Bucky had seen what it was. “You assholes! God damn you! You assholes!”

Steve’s head was pulled back, and the mouth guard was thrust between his teeth, and even as Steve was moaning, a gag was fastened tightly around his jaw.

Steve’s eyes shot open.

“Steve! Steve!”

Steve’s eyes widened, and even from across the room, Bucky could see the terror and confusion in them.

“Steve!”

Mercifully, miraculously, Steve looked at him. And Bucky could have sobbed at the sudden desperate relief in Steve’s eyes at his presence. “It’s gonna be okay, Stevie.” And he gentled his voice, and pressed his hand against the glass. “I’m with you. Just hold on.” Steve stared at him. “Hold on,” and his voice broke as Steve blinked slowly. Yes. Even in this hell, he trusted Bucky. Trusted Bucky to save him. And he would.

He would.

“That’s right, Steve.” And he pressed his hand more firmly against the glass. “Just keep holding on.” God damn his breaking voice. “I’m here and I’m gonna get yo-”

The Doctor pressed the button.

“No!”

Then Steve was screaming again, but now the agonised cries were muffled and distorted, and that was somehow worse. Somehow so much worse.

The Doctor smiled. “Better.”

“I’ll kill you! I’ll fuc-!”

Frowning, the Doctor twisted his head over his shoulder and looked at Bucky. He glared at him coldly. “I’m afraid you are being quite the nuisance, Sergeant Barnes.”

“Go to hell, you asshole!” Snarling and sobbing, Bucky smashed his fist again against the glass. “Steve!”

The Doctor stared at him impassively for a moment longer, and then he sighed. “I have tried to be patient, but this behaviour cannot be tolerated.” He shook his head. “It really is not conducive to a successful session. If you cannot be quiet, Sergeant Barnes, I will have to rescind your invitation and the explanations will have to wait.” And then suddenly, and without any warning, the laboratory disappeared.

Bucky stumbled forwards, blankly. “No!” His fist came up. “No! No! Steve!”

But only the cold, grey walls of the prison cell stared back at Bucky.

---

Steve screamed.

Pulsating and pounding shards of pain stabbed into his head, tore into his brain, smothered his mind, until he was utterly consumed by it. There was nothing else in his existence.  

Nothing but agonising, terrible pain.

Then impossibly, unbearably it increased in its magnitude.

And there was nothing he could do to fight it. Nothing but scream out his agony.

Oh God! How was it possible to endure this? How could he - ?

“Steve!”

Then from one moment to the next, the intensity of the pain suddenly stopped.

Barely able to comprehend the relief, his body seemed to tumble away from him, limp and lifeless, and he could do nothing but breathe and breathe and breathe.

“Steve! Steve!”

He opened his eyes.

“Steve!”

Oh God. Bucky.

Bucky!

Steve stared at him desperately. Didn’t dare to look away from him even for a second. Didn’t dare to even blink. Bucky!  

“It’s gonna be okay, Stevie. I’m with you. Just hold on. Hold on.” The pain was too much, too much, but it was Bucky, it was Bucky. And he could not find his voice in the agony of his body, but he could blink. Bucky would understand. He could hold on. For Bucky, he could hold on. “That’s right, Steve. Just keep holding on. I’m here and I’m gonna get yo-”

A sudden surge of agony exploded through Steve’s body.

Oh God! Oh God!

Then suddenly there was shouting and there was screaming, and maybe it was him. And maybe it wasn’t. Maybe he was already dead. Because he couldn’t think. Couldn’t comprehend what was happening to him. The pain was overwhelming. It was too much. God, it was too much!

It was going to kill him.

“It’s gonna be okay, Stevie. I’m with you. Just hold on. Hold on.”

He held on.

---

“Captain Rogers? Captain Rogers? Can you hear me? Open your eyes if you can hear me.”

Steve opened his eyes.

A tall, thin man was bent over him, and a wide smile broke out on the man’s face as Steve stared up at him.

“At last! I was quite beside myself with worry.” He moved closer to Steve, and his breath washed over Steve’s face, and though it was putrid, Steve had no energy to turn his head away. He was so tired, so tired. He wondered, dully, what was wrong with him. But the man was speaking again, and maybe he would tell him. “To be honest, I thought perhaps I’d killed you,” and then the man was laughing, “but you are a fine specimen, Captain, a very fine specimen, and I should have had more faith in the genius of Erskine.”

Steve stared at him.

“Anyway, you have not been killed, and in fact, it has been a most remarkable session.” The man studied Steve, and then he scribbled something down on a clipboard. “It seems that using a higher voltage of the electroconvulsive therapy may perhaps accelerate the process,” and the man looked back down at Steve and smiled again. “Your serum is most gratifying in that regard, Captain. You know, they had to use a much lower voltage on your friend, Sergeant Barnes, and it extended the length of that particular programme most inefficiently as a consequence.”

Sergeant Barnes?

Bucky!

Steve lurched forwards.

He was brought to an instant and painful halt. Confused, he looked down at his body. He was strapped to a chair, and suddenly all the memories of what had happened to him came hurtling back.

The man was studying his face intently, and as if reading Steve’s mind, he grinned. “So, your short-term memories have returned, have they?” The man glanced at the watch on his wrist. “A matter of minutes. Remarkable, Captain Rogers, remarkable.”

“Who the hell are you and where is Bucky?”

“Virtually identical questions asked by your companion. I find it vaguely amusing.”

Steve snarled, and pulled at the straps tying him down.

“You will find that a useless endeavour, Captain Rogers.” The man shook his head, and tutted. “Indeed, after today’s session, you really should be conserving your energy. I imagine you are in a great deal of pain.”

He was in pain. His whole body ached in fact, and his head – his head was a pounding pulse of agony, but Steve pushed the pain back. He could worry about it later. Right now, right now there were significantly more important matters to be concerned about.

“You didn’t answer my questions. Who the hell are you and where is Bucky?”

The man turned away, but he answered Steve as he moved around the room.

“My name is Dr Samuel Smith.” The man put something into a sealed bag. “As for your friend, he is in confinement.”

Steve pulled at the straps again. “If you’ve done anything to him –!”

The Doctor rolled his eyes as he reached up to close a cabinet door. “He is absolutely fine.” He looked at Steve. “You should think of yourself, Captain.” He seemed to pause, and then he moved across the room and back to the chair. “You have quite the programme in front of you, and a successful outcome will depend heavily on your stamina and strength.”

Steve stared at him. “What do you want with me?”

The Doctor beamed widely, and pulled over a stool, sitting down on it with a soft sigh of satisfaction. He looked at Steve, sheepishly. “Forgive me, it’s been a long day. Anyway,” and his face brightened, “back to your question. As it is, I’m delighted you’ve asked. Let me -”

There was a sudden heavy tread of feet, and a man, clad in tactical gear, strode into the room. “Doc. You’re needed.”

The Doctor looked up at him, and Steve blinked at the flash of fear that crossed Smith’s face, though it was supressed immediately.

“Which one?”

“Number 3.”

The Doctor stood up. He looked at Steve and then at the man. “Bring in Fields and Havers, and take Captain Rogers to cell 2.”

The man shrugged. “Cell 2 isn’t up to standard yet.”

“Then put him in with Barnes. It isn’t bloody rocket science, Holt.”

“Doc.”

The Doctor seemed to pause, and then he stepped over to a counter, and Steve heard the sudden clatter of instruments. A moment later, Smith turned back, a filled syringe in his hand. “Don’t worry, my dear boy,” he soothed, smiling sympathetically as Steve stiffened, “it’s only a light sedative.” He walked over to the chair. “You’ll forgive the precaution, Captain Rogers, but I think we best transport you in ignaro statu.” He wiped a spot on Steve’s arm with a damp cotton pad, and then ignoring Steve’s struggle, he injected the contents of the syringe into it. “The boys would never forgive me if you gave them trouble,” he said, brightly. “Besides,” and he patted Steve’s cheek with an affectionate grin that repulsed the blond man, “you could probably do with the rest.”

“Go to hell,” but already Steve’s eyes were closing, and though he tried to fight it desperately, he could feel the heaviness of unnatural sleep pulling him down. With one last desperate gasp, he forced his eyes back open. The Doctor was standing by the doorway now and he was gesticulating furiously at the guard, and Steve thought that he could see the fear in his face again, and perhaps that was significant, but he was so tired, so tired, so …

Notes:

* in ignaro statu (Latin: in an unconscious state)

Chapter 5: A Soft Reunion

Bucky sat pressed against the wall of the cell, his knees tightly drawn up to his chest, and his head buried in his arms.

He had no idea how long it had been since the laboratory had disappeared behind the projected illusion, but every moment since had been a torment of agonies.

For a long while, after Steve had been taken from him, he had shouted and raged, and smashed his fist against the wall, but there had been no response. Then he had begged and pleaded, but his words had been met with silence. His pleas disappearing, and filled with a burning fire, he had then tried the door again, but once more he had been overcome by the electricity running through it. Defiant, he had thrown himself against it. Again and again and again. Until he had woken up to find himself splayed out on the floor, covered in a cold sweat, and his heart racing. That had frightened him. What use would he be to Steve dead? He had given up after that.

And so now he sat against the wall. 

Waiting.

And waiting.

There was a sudden clang.

In an instant, Bucky had leapt to his feet. He stared at the door.

A crackle of white noise filled the room, until a voice abruptly cut it off.

“This door is opening in 10 seconds. You try anything, asshole, and your pal’s gonna be the one paying for it.”

Bucky stepped back.

The door opened.

A man appeared, and Bucky recognised him from the laboratory. He stood for a moment in the entrance, staring at Bucky. A wicked-looking Koch pistol was in his hand, its muzzle pointed at the soldier.

“You make one move, you shit, and I’ll blow your head clean off.” Then still staring at Bucky, he stepped to the side, and cocked his head, “Okay, guys, bring him in.”

Two men appeared in the doorway, and Bucky’s heart leapt into his throat at his first sight of Steve. The blond man was unconscious, his skin drenched in sweat, and his chest dotted with dry flakes of blood from his earlier nosebleed. He was hanging, insensate, between the two men, until with a grunt, they dropped him, and he fell with a cruel thud to the floor.

Staring at Steve, Bucky jolted as something hit him hard in the face. He looked down. A bottle of water lay at his feet.  

There was a snigger, and Bucky looked back up. The man was sneering at him, another bottle of water in his hand. “Thought you were meant to be the perfect soldier. Pretty shitty reflexes, if you ask me.” The other men laughed. He waggled his eyebrows, and held up the bottle. “Think you can catch this one, idiot?”

Bucky glared at him, but said nothing, grabbing the bottle from the air as it was tossed towards him. There was a rustle, and a bag was dropped on the floor by Steve’s prone body.

“Make sure he eats his fill,” said the man, prodding the bag with his foot, and nodding at Steve. “Doc wants him fit and healthy for tomorrow’s session.”

And then, stepping backwards, and with a final sneer, the man left the room, the other two with him; the door closing and locking behind them with a dull clang.

“Steve!”

Dropping the water bottle, Bucky covered the few steps between him and his friend in a frantic rush, and fell to his knees beside Steve’s body. “Steve!” The blond man didn’t stir. Carefully and gently, Bucky rolled him over onto his back. “Stevie.” Nothing. It was then Bucky noticed the small red pinprick on his upper arm. “Assholes,” he muttered. He stood up and looked at the bed – or rather the pathetic excuse for a bed. But the slab was better than nothing, Bucky supposed. He stepped over to it, and picking up the blanket, shook it out and flung it over the cold metal surface. Then moving back to Steve, he slipped his arms under his friend’s back and legs, and carefully picked him up. His body was warm – too warm, and now that Bucky was holding him, he could feel a slight tremor running through his frame. “Assholes!” he snarled again, and because he was certain they were being watched and listened to, he shouted it louder and with a string of profanity-laden curses. And afterwards, when he drew breath, he felt a little better. Then moving over to the bed, he gently laid Steve down on the blanket. He squeezed his arm. “Back in a second, pal.”

He crossed the cell again, and picked up the bag. Sitting back down next to Steve, he pulled it open, examining its contents. There was an assortment of fruit – papayas, guavas, bananas, and plums. There was also some type of dried meat, and a loaf of bread. So they wouldn’t starve then – at least not tonight. Bucky blinked. Huh. He assumed it was the evening, but now that he thought about it, he had absolutely no clue as to the time of day. He shrugged, and pulled out the remaining object in the bag. A roll of toilet paper. He grimaced at the implication. The close confines with Steve didn’t bother him - God knows bunking together in the trenches had stripped them both of any embarrassment, but it didn’t mean he relished the thought of Hydra’s bastards being an audience to his ablutions. Well, screw them. Sneering, he waved the paper in the air. “Hope you enjoy the shitshow, assholes!” he shouted, and a little proud of his pun, he hid his smirk under his elbow.

There was nothing else in the bag. He placed the fruit and food back into it, and then looking at Steve, he picked up the toilet paper again and ripped off a sheet. Next, and carefully, so carefully so as not to waste any, he poured a very small amount of water onto it. “Come here, pal,” he said softly, and bending over Steve, he wiped away the dried blood from his chest and face.

“Bet that feels better, Stevie.” And then, his hand on Steve’s arm, he sat back against the wall, stretched his legs out beside Steve’s body, and waited.

---

With a grunt, Bucky woke up. He must have dozed off. He sat, unmoving, for a long moment, and then groaning, he straightened, stretching the muscles in his back. He glanced down at Steve.

He was staring back at him.

Bucky blinked. And then with a sudden, uncoordinated scramble, he clambered up onto his knees. “Steve! Oh my God! You’re awake!” And grinning widely in relief, Bucky reached down to pull his friend into a desperate hug.

Abruptly, he stopped.

Stopped as he saw the tight lips, the scrunched-up corners of the eyes, the light coat of sweat on the pale skin.

Bucky sat back on his heels.

Clucking softly, he brushed a hand over Steve’s forehead. “It’s okay, Stevie, it’s okay.”

Steve said nothing, but neither did he look away from Bucky. Instead he stared fixedly, intensely at him, and Bucky brushed his forehead again, and swallowed back his agony at the pain and confusion in those dazed, blue eyes.

“It's okay, I'm here, punk. I'm here." He smiled softly at him. "Just lie still, Stevie. We’re just gonna take it easy for a minute.” He squeezed Steve’s shoulder. “That’s it. That’s it,” he soothed. “We’re just gonna take it real easy. Deep breaths, Stevie. There you go. Good work, pal.” Bucky rubbed his shoulder as he spoke, and Steve blinked up at him. “Deep breaths, buddy. That's it.”

Then with one hand still on Steve’s shoulder, Bucky stretched back for the water bottle behind him, and grabbing hold of it, he leaned over Steve again. “Okay, pal. I want you to drink as much as you can, alright? Cos you’re gonna be dehydrated and that’s not gonna be helping your head much. No, don’t worry, I’ll do all the work,” and putting a hand under Steve’s head, he lifted it up gently and brought the bottle to his lips. “There you go, pal. That’s it. Good job, Steve.” Satisfied, Bucky put the bottle away, and carefully lowered Steve’s head back down onto the blanket. “That's better, isn't it. Good job, Stevie. And now I want you to try and sleep. Just for a little bit, cos you’re gonna need to eat, but you’ll feel much better after a sleep, Stevie, I promise.” He rubbed Steve’s shoulder again. “That’s it, punk, shut your eyes, that’s it,” and he watched as Steve’s blinks grew heavier and heavier, and he continued to rub his shoulder and mutter nonsensical words, until between one blink and the next, Steve’s eyes remained closed.

“Good job, Stevie,” he soothed, "good job," and then, as before, he sat back, his hand on Steve's arm.

And waited.

Chapter 6: Questions are Asked

On the plane between sleep and consciousness, Steve frowned.

Something had pulled at him – a sudden stimuli in his fog-laden head. He pushed against the heavy blanket of slumber, chasing the curiosity. There! It was the tang of something sweet, something musky in the air – something so out of place amongst the agonies of before, that Steve blinked away the sleep that tugged at him still, and opened his eyes.

“I thought that’d wake you up, punk. You always were a glutton for fruit.”

Bucky, sat stretched out along his side, was smirking down at him, waving a small yellow guava in his hand.

“Bucky.”

The soldier smiled, and putting the fruit down, he pulled himself closer to Steve, studying his face. “You feeling better, Stevie?” he asked softly, and an echo of before came back to Steve, of a pain-filled existence, and Bucky soothing him into sleep. He stared up at his friend. “Thank you, Buck.”

There was no confusion on Bucky’s face at his non-sequitur. Instead, he simply rolled his eyes, and gave an affectionate huff. “You don’t need to thank me.” He paused. “Scrap that – you can thank me by answering my question, jerk.”

Steve laughed, and with a groan he sat up, and following suit, leant against the wall next to his friend. “Much better. I don’t feel like my brain’s gonna drip out of my ears anytime soon, at least.”

“Good. That’s good. Now eat this,” and Bucky held out the guava.

“Where the hell did that come from?” asked Steve, staring at it in wonder, before his belly rumbled, and he bit into it ravenously.

“Same place as these,” and Bucky pointed to a large bag by his feet, then dragging it over and onto his legs, he pulled a small bunch of bananas out of it.

Steve frowned. “I feel like I’m missing a lot.”

“Well, join the club, pal.” Bucky peeled a banana. “Anyway, we’re gonna eat everything in this bag, and drink that water,” and he pointed to a couple of bottles, “and then you and I are gonna share our intel.”

“Okay, Buck.”

Abruptly Bucky sneezed, and even as Steve laughed at him in surprise, Bucky was rubbing his nose, his hand covering his mouth. “Then we’re gonna work out what this shitshow is all about and more importantly, just how the hell we’re getting out of here.”

Still laughing, Steve shuffled up closer to Bucky, slinging an arm around his shoulder so that they were pressed tightly together, and his voice, when he spoke, was a mere sliver of a whisper – too quiet for non-enhanced ears. “Cameras?”

“Hmm. And microphones.”

“Okay then.”

“Guess it’s your dream, though.”

“Huh?”

“Gives you the perfect excuse to cling onto me like a goddamn octopus.”

“Jerk!”

“Punk.”  

“I’ll show you a goddamn octopus!”

Then jostling and pushing each other, they fell into giggling, until, still with the occasional snort, they sobered up and passing the food back and forth between them, they ate their meal.

On the other side of the camera, the Hydra agent looked away from the monitor.

“Are you sure that’s Captain America and the Winter Soldier?” he asked, the file he’d read of world-scale heroics and terrifying assassinations not matching the scene in front of him.

The other agent nodded slowly.  “That’s what they tell me.”

He scoffed. “Then what the hell is all the fuss about? They’re idiots!” and with an incredulous shake of his head, he turned back to the screen.

---

"So, what do we know?”

Bucky shifted under Steve’s arm, sipping his water. “We know we’re not in Moldova.”

“Right. The fruit?”

“Yeah. South American.”

“Doesn’t narrow it down much, Buck.”

“No, but we can only work with what we’ve got, punk.”

“True. What else?”

“Doctor Smith – the asshole who put you in the chair – he wants you for something. Told me he has a ‘plan’ for you.” Bucky forced down his simmering rage at the recollection. “I don’t know what it is.”

Steve bit his lip. “Not a replacement Winter Soldier, though.”

“No. He said he wouldn’t waste such a specimen on that redundant programme.” He looked at Steve. “How did you know that? What did he say to you?”

Steve shrugged, but his hands twisted in his lap. “Nothing conclusive. Just that the higher voltage he was using would accelerate the process, compared to the Winter Soldier programme.”

Bucky paled. “A higher voltage?” Again, his rage reared up, almost choking him. “I’m gonna tear him into goddamn pieces when we get out of here.”

“What about you, Bucky?” And Steve shuffled closer, and Bucky could hear the frantic worry in his voice. “What’s he got planned for you?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing? Bucky, I don’t need you to pro-”

“I was a mistake. They weren’t expecting me, Steve. Remember what Rumlow said?”

Bucky watched as Steve’s face whitened. “God, it’s my fault you’re here then. If I’d never said yes to you coming on the mission, you’d be safe. Bucky, I’m -”

“Shut up, Steve.”

Steve blinked.

“Your fault? That’s some strange, twisted logic you’ve worked out for yourself, pal. None of this is your fault, and thank God I’m here. Shit, the thought of you in this place? Alone?” Bucky shuddered. “I don’t wanna even think about it. Anyway, it’s gonna take brains to get out of this joint, so without me here? God, you’d have been screwed.”

And, as Bucky intended, Steve smirked, albeit half-heartedly, and elbowed him in the side. “Idiot.”

“Exactly,” and he smiled at Steve’s snort. “So, now that that’s all been cleared up, where were we?”

“Trying to work out what the hell it is Smith has planned.”

“Yeah.” Bucky rubbed a hand across his face. “So, if it’s not to try and make another Soldier, what is it?” He paused, another memory falling into his head. “Oh, God.”

“Buck?”

“He talked about elevating you – elevating you above all limitations.” Bucky’s heart thumped in his chest. “To the status of a god, he said. Well, what the shit does that mean, Steve?”

“I – I don’t know.”

“Well, we’re not waiting to find out. We need to get out of here.”

Steve nodded, slowly. “There’s a complication.”

Bucky looked at him, sharply. “What complication?”

“I think there’s others here. Other prisoners, I mean, Buck.”

“What? Have you seen them?”

“No.” And Steve sounded uncertain now. “Listen. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe it was something else entirely. But when I was in there? Someone came in. Told the Doctor that he was needed for ‘number 3’.”

“That doesn’t mean they were talking about a person, Steve. Could have been anything.”

“True, it’s just -”

“Yeah?”

“It scared Smith. Whatever they were talking about. It frightened him. And I couldn’t help thinking it was something alive.”

“Something?”

“Someone.”

Bucky scrubbed his hand through his hair. “It’s all guesswork though, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, but on the chance there’s others here with us? We’ve got to at least check, Buck.”

Bucky sighed. “I know. I know.” He looked at Steve. “But at this point? That’s a hypothetical. And anyway, we’ve gotta get ourselves out of here first, before we can even think about helping anyone else.”

“Right.” Steve looked around the cell. “I’m guessing the door’s proven to be an impossible exit?”

“Electrified.”

“Great.” Steve’s forehead wrinkled in confusion. “I swear I saw you looking through a window?”

“The wall, actually. That one.” And Bucky pointed at it. He shrugged. “But another impossible exit. Made from the same stuff in Moldova.”

“Hulk’s Detention Cell.”

“What?”

Steve shrugged. “The glass. Same stuff they used for Hulk’s prison. Or Detention Cell, as Fury called it. He had a glass cage made for Banner, on the Helicarrier, in 2012. Anyway, it was the same formula. I guess that’s where they got it from.”

“Well, it’s too much for us, whatever it is.”

“Okay.” Steve chewed his lip. “Then maybe we’ve got no choice, and we’re just gonna have to wait for an opportunity.”

“An opportunity?” Bucky glared at him. “And in the meantime, Steve? In the meantime, we just let them fry your brain?”

“I can survive it, Bucky.”

“It’s not about surviving it, Steve,” hissed Bucky, suddenly. “It’s about not losing your goddamn mind!”  His voice rose into a shout, and they had been so quiet, so hushed, that both men started.

After a moment of fragile silence, Bucky sighed. “I’m sorry, Steve.”

“Don’t be. I’m sorry. But I’m not wrong, Buck.” Steve looked at his friend. “We’re gonna have to wait.”

“And I’m meant to just accept you being tortured while we do?”

“No, just like I’m not accepting what’s happening to you.” Steve held up his hand as Bucky opened his mouth in anger. “Knowing I’m in that chair? Watching it? That’s a form of torture too. Of course it is. So, that very first opportunity? We’re taking it. But in the meantime, we’ve gotta do what you told me, back there in that laboratory.”

Bucky looked at him.

“We’ve gotta hold on.”

---

“Alright, assholes, door’s opening in 10 seconds, so move back against the wall. Either of you try anything, and I’ll burn you.”

Having risen to their feet from where they’d been asleep on the blanket, and feeling like they’d had only a few hours, Bucky still had the energy to raise an eyebrow at the flamethrower in the man’s hand as the door opened, and snort. “You don't think that's a bit of an overkill, buddy?”

“Listen, asshole. I ain’t taking any chances with you dickheads. Smithers did, and look at the shit that happened to him.”

Bucky frowned. “Who?”

But the man was already gesturing with the barrel of the flame-thrower. “Alright, Russian, you’re first.”

Steve lurched forward, only pausing when another guard stepped through the doorway and a pistol swung Bucky’s way. “You move another step, Captain, and the bullet’s his.”

Steve glared at the two men. “Where the hell are you taking him?”

“The showers, you idiot.”

“I want a shower too.”

“And you’ll get one, but not with him. You must think I have pigshit for brains,” and the man sneered at him. Then turning to Bucky, he stepped forward. “And just so you know – you try anything? You step an inch out of line? Your buddy here will suffer.” Heavy magnetic manacles were attached to Bucky’s wrists, and grunting with satisfaction, the man pointed to the door. “Move, bitch.”

---

Bucky had been and come back, and he had had no time to say anything to Steve before he too was being shackled and ordered out of the cell, the same threats thrown at him about Bucky’s welfare if he were to try anything.

Saying nothing, Steve stepped out into a corridor, and immediately he scanned his surroundings. They revealed nothing remarkable. It was the same grey walls of the cell, stretching out, with various corridors splitting off at intersections. There were no windows, but there were vents, and Steve wondered for a moment at their quantity.

They reached the showers – basic stalls with no doors – and Steve was ordered inside one.

“Pants, you dumb shit.”

Steve gestured to his manacles. “No, you can strip easily enough with them on,” snapped the man.

Pulling his pants off, Steve stepped under the head of the shower. Without any warning, a sudden, cold spray of water cascaded down onto his body, and he shivered under its icy deluge.

“Must feel like home, huh?” shouted one of the men. “70 years in the ice, wasn’t it?” and the other men laughed. Steve said nothing.

“Alright, turn it off,” and then a towel was being flung at him, and then a fresh pair of pants, and he was escorted back out into the corridor.

They walked down it in silence, and again Steve studied his surroundings, but he learnt nothing new.

It was just as they were passing an intersection, that Steve saw it.

Just for a moment.

But it was enough.

He had turned his head, to scan the corridor to his left, when he spotted the Doctor. He was standing in front of another of the glass walls, and staring into a room. Whoever he was looking at must have been taller than him, for his head was tipped back. The Doctor was tall – as tall as him and Bucky – and Steve frowned. And then, whoever was in the cell, must have suddenly moved closer, for the Doctor instinctively stepped back, and curious, Steve turned his eyes to look at the prisoner.

“Oh my God.”

“Keep moving, asshole,” and Steve stumbled as he was pushed forward, but he barely acknowledged it, his mind racing.

“Oh my God.”

And suddenly, suddenly, Bucky’s words rang in his ear. “He talked about elevating you – elevating you above all limitations. To the status of a god, he said. Well, what the shit does that mean, Steve?”

He knew what it meant.

He had seen it in the cell.

And he was filled with a sudden surge of fear.

Chapter 7: Answers are Given

Bucky paced up and down, up and down the small cell. Steve had been gone for a while – longer than he had anticipated, and it filled him with fear. Why the delay? What had happened?

But then a crackle of white noise suddenly split the air, and Bucky stilled. He waited impatiently for a voice to follow.

“Good morning, Sergeant Barnes, I trust you had a pleasant sleep?”

“Where’s Steve, asshole?” Bucky scowled, his hatred for the English Doctor infusing his words.

There was a patronising tut. “Dear me, Sergeant Barnes, already so abrasive. There really is no need for such manners.” There was another crackle and Bucky panicked. But then the voice spoke up again. “I am a busy man, Sergeant. I have very little time to spend on inconsequential conversations, so if I am to allow such inefficiencies into my schedule, I expect full cooperation. Do you understand me?”

Bucky bit down on his lip. God, he hated the man. But he needed to know where Steve was, and so he nodded.

“I want to hear you say it, Sergeant.”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, I understand.”

“Good boy. Now that wasn’t so hard, was it, my dear?”

Bucky said nothing, but again the crackle filled the air, and he hastily shook his head. “No.”

There was a short burst of laughter, and Bucky schooled his face into blankness.

“Well done, my dear boy. And you see, now that you have been polite, I am happy to converse with you.”

The wall shimmered, and the laboratory appeared.

Steve was in the chair.

“You goddamn bitch! You fuc-!”

The wall reappeared.

“I warn you, Sergeant Barnes, anymore such disruptions or disparaging comments, and I will have to exclude you from today’s session. Apologise.”

Bucky stabbed his fingernails into his palm. “I’m sorry.”

The laboratory reappeared in front of Bucky.

Steve was already looking at him, as if his eyes had remained fixed on the space where Bucky had been.

“Stevie! I’m here. I’m with you.”

“Bucky,” and though Steve tried to hide the fear in his voice, he failed, and it took all of Bucky’s strength not to rage and shout, but he said nothing, and instead placed his open hand on the glass, and kept his eyes on his friend.

The Doctor was consulting a tablet, and then typing something on it, he placed it down on a counter, and looked up and between the two men. He smiled. “Touching, quite touching, boys. I’m so very happy, Sergeant Barnes, that we managed to facilitate your presence. It is obviously something of a morale boost for our dear Captain, and it is most important that he be kept in an accommodating state for today’s session.”

“What -” and Bucky’s voice broke, “what are you going to do to him?”

“Oh, in practical terms it’ll only be a repeat of yesterday. The same voltage, the same duration, etcetera. However,” and the Doctor’s eyes lit up, and his tongue flickered out and he licked his dry, flaking lips, “today we will be introducing some suggestive phrases and words, and testing the boundaries of manipulation.”

“Manipulation?”

“Regarding memory. Only very superficially in this session, of course, but the outcomes should be quite interesting.”

Bucky watched as Steve’s chest heaved up and down, and his fingers dug into the arms of the chair, and his heart thudded, painfully, in response. The Doctor had noticed the change in Steve too, and with a sympathetic sigh, he stepped over to the blond man. “Don’t worry, my dear boy, if my programme works – and I see no reason why it shouldn’t – you will have no memory of any of this. The pain you suffer, any distress – all of it will evaporate. Granted, total amnesia will not be for another few sessions yet, but then once you forget, what does that matter?” He rubbed a hand along Steve’s bare arm, up and down, up and down, as he spoke, and Bucky felt sick.

“I saw it.”

The Doctor’s hand stilled. “What?”

Bucky frowned, and he leaned closer to the glass.

“I saw it. This morning.” Steve stared up at the Doctor. “The creature.”

The Doctor took a step back. “Ah.” His face twisted. “That is a little unfortunate.”

“What creature? What is he talking about?” and risking the Doctor’s anger, Bucky thudded his fist onto the glass. “What creature?”

The Doctor pursed his lips. “A failed experiment, nothing more.”

“An experiment?” The words were spat from Bucky’s mouth. “You really are a sick fuc-”

The Doctor waved his hand, and began to fiddle with the controls of the chair. “You are applying your empathy, Sergeant, to nothing. A mindless animal,” he said. He frowned as he studied a readout. “Really, Captain, please do attempt to control your heart-rate. A stressed body is not optimal.”

“It wasn’t a mindless animal,” and Steve’s voice was cold and hard. “It was a man.”

“What used to be a man, and your compassion is grossly misplaced.” The Doctor suddenly leant over Steve, and he prodded his chest with a long finger as he spoke, accentuating each word. “He was worthless. Useless. You would have thought so if you had seen him. Known him. Just ask Sergeant Barnes. But he could have been glorious. Him and the others – they were made to be glorious, but in the end they proved to be nothing more than self-serving animals. I attempted to rectify that.”

“How? Through mindless brainwashing?”

The Doctor sneered at Steve. “Please do not humiliate yourself by making stupid observations, Captain. You saw him yourself. You called him a creature, afterall. I would call him a new life-form, but if we are to be pedantic, then I suppose he is more alien than anything else.”

“Alien?” and Steve’s voice trembled in unbridled anger and horrified disgust. “What did you do?”

“Do? You saw what I did.” The Doctor leaned back. “I changed his very being. That is where we all went wrong before, you know. It isn’t enough to simply manipulate the mind of the man. It always reverts. Our very own Sergeant Barnes here is an illustration of that. No. To make him more than he is? Then he could ever be? A man’s very essence must be changed. The molecules, the nuclei. You know something of that, Captain. But Erskine lacked the courage or foresight to complete what he had started.” The Doctor’s eyes suddenly flashed with pride, and his face grew distorted with a twisted smile of unfettered madness. “But I have done it. I did it to him. I manipulated his body. Rewrote his core make-up. Contorted his DNA.”

“Contorted it?”

“Forgive me. A poetical metaphor. I have achieved something far more intricate. I have spliced it.” The Doctor’s lips glistened.

Bucky and Steve stared at him.

“Spliced it?” and Steve could hardly speak through his horror and revulsion.

“Yes. With that of a superior being’s.” But then the Doctor wiped a hand across his lips, and his twisted smile suddenly unfurled. “But I failed in my intended outcome. Yes, I have changed him. I have given him physical supremacy. But his nature – it is inferior. His base and selfish animal instincts remain. Of course, I have tried replica experiments with his peers. But all five outcomes have been identical.” He looked at Steve, and his tongue came out again. “But with you, Captain, with you I will not fail. For you are different.”

His finger hovered above the chair's button. “In every way, you are already superior. So to splice your DNA with its?” His eyes shone. “Captain, you will be a god.” He laughed, and then, he took a deep breath. “Forgive me, it is tremendously exciting. But we must not allow ourselves to get carried away. If we are to be successful, we must first concentrate on the mind. First must come complete surrender, my dear boy, and then the superiority of the body, of the being, will follow.”

And he pressed the button.

---

Steve had been right. This was torture. To watch as Steve’s mind was torn apart, as his body was abused, as he screamed, and screamed and screamed. It was unbearable. But Bucky did not look away. He could not allow Steve to suffer alone. And so he stood on the other side of the glass and he watched.

The Doctor hovered near the controls. “Please,” Bucky begged again, as he had a hundred times already, “please stop this,” but the Doctor said nothing, did not even look at him. Instead, he tapped on a reading and then writing something down on a chart, he glanced at Steve. He suddenly seemed to notice that his nose was bleeding again.

Finally, finally he pressed the button and the whine of the chair ceased, and like a marionette without its strings, Steve collapsed.

“Steve! Stevie. Can you hear me? Steve?”

“He is quite unconscious, Sergeant Barnes. But when he wakes, you may speak to him. It will be a useful measure of his faculties and memory recall.”

Bucky stared at him, his eyes glistening with hatred. “Sooner or later, I’m going to escape. It’s inevitable, Doctor. And when I do, I’m not going to run, I’m going to find you. And then I’m going to kill you. I want you to know that.”

The Doctor snorted. “So you’ve said. Really, I find it all rather bor-”

There was a sudden cacophony of noise. A loud, jarring, pulsating shriek rang out and the white lights of the laboratory flickered to a dark, pulsing red.

A guard, stood by the door, stared at the Doctor. “The alarm! Do you know what that means?!”

Then even as he was speaking, there was a sudden barrage of shots somewhere outside in the corridor, followed by terrified shouts and screams.

“Shit! Shit! Shit!” The guard’s wide eyes filled with horror. “It’s got out! It’s got out!”

“Nonsense! That’s impossible! Impossible!” The Doctor marched over to the doorway. “It’s impossible!” And then he was gone, and the man with him.

“Steve!”

Bucky smashed his fist against the glass. Again and again. And he sobbed in rage at the futility of his actions.

Something entered the laboratory.

Bucky froze.

It was a man, but not a man. It was too tall, and its limbs too long. A sharp ridge of bony protrusions ran down its grey back, and its abdominal muscles bulged out between its ribs, so that it appeared both grotesquely emaciated and supernaturally strong. Its head might have once been a man’s, but now its jawline was elongated and its lower row of teeth – serrated and sharp – protruded from its mouth. Its nostrils and ears were slits, and its eyes were small and yellow. As it crossed the threshold of the laboratory, it moved on two legs, but suddenly pausing, it swayed from side to side, its head twitching and jerking, and then using its arms, it pulled itself up onto a counter, a long, black tongue flickering out of its mouth. It crouched, motionless, only its yellow eyes darting back and forth.

Bucky stared at it. He was utterly and completely terrified. But not for himself.

He tore his eyes away from the monstrosity, and found his friend. He was still unconscious. It seemed impossible that the creature hadn’t noticed Steve yet, but it was darker in the room now, and Bucky prayed, prayed desperately that perhaps it relied more heavily on its other senses, and Steve’s silent unconsciousness would hide him from it.

This was worse than anything Bucky had ever experienced. To be on this side of the wall, and for Steve to be in there, alone and utterly vulnerable. All of Bucky’s body shook with a petrified, frantic tension, his blood roared in his ears, and his arm whirred by his side as he bitterly cursed his uselessness and watched the creature.

Suddenly, it stiffened. Its head twisted until it was looking back at the door, and holding his breath, Bucky willed it to move, to leave. And then it seemed as if it were, sliding a leg down and twisting its body to face the door. Bucky dared to breathe.

Steve moaned.

In an instant, the creature had twisted back, and sprung off the counter, and in one horribly-insect-like leap, it had crossed the room. Jerking and twitching, it twisted itself over the chair and stared down at the blond man. It seemed to be studying him, but then its head twitched again. An animalistic sound of hunger erupted from its throat, and its tongue flickered out. In a move so sudden that Bucky had no time to react, it licked the blood dripping down Steve’s chin. It paused, and shuddered, its nostrils flaring, and then opening its mouth wider and wider until its jaw snapped out in dislocation, it lowered its head towards Steve’s face.

Louder than he ever had in his life before, Bucky screamed.

Chapter 8: A Terrifying Realisation

Bucky screamed.

The creature’s head whipped around, a shriek erupting from its mouth.

“That’s it, you bastard! Over here! Over here!” and Bucky pounded desperately on the glass.

With a snarl that shredded the air, the creature leapt across the room, its frenzied scramble tearing up the laboratory benches and cabinets behind it, its clawed feet ripping great rents into the floor. Jaws gaping wide, it hurled itself at the glass. There was an earth-shattering thud, and the creature rebounded backwards, smashing into the remnants of the laboratory behind it. For an instant it lay stunned, and then curling its limbs beneath it like some horribly contorted spider, it abruptly unfurled, twisting up with a rasping screech of rage.

Steve moaned again.

Its head twitched.

“Is that all you’ve got, asshole?! Is that all you’ve got?!”

With a blood-curdling scream, the creature tore across the floor. But reaching the glass, it suddenly stopped.

In startled bewilderment, Bucky tensed. What the hell was it doing?

He watched, as twisting its head to the side, the creature began to rise up onto its legs, taller and taller, until he was forced to tilt his head back to follow it. Then its yellow eyes dilating, its grey hand came up – thick with muscle and tapering off into splintered shards of nails – and slowly and deliberately, it slid it down onto the glass.

For a moment it didn’t move, and then its tongue, still speckled with Steve’s blood, flickered out, and with a grotesque shudder of its body, it pressed itself up to the glass, closer and closer, until its face was almost crushed against it.

And then, then it stopped.

It stared at Bucky.

A frisson of fear ran down his spine, as he stared back at it, for in those reptilian eyes he could suddenly read something altogether more terrifying, more horrifying than any superhuman physicality. Intelligence. There was intelligence in its eyes. His arm whirred by his side.

The creature’s eyes darted towards the movement, and when they flickered back up to his face, Bucky gave an involuntary start. It was impossible. Impossible. For as it stared at him, there was something more now. Recognition. It recognised him. Utterly shaken, and filled with shocked confusion, Bucky stumbled backwards.

But he had no time to think, no time to consider what it could mean, for in the very next instant, and without any warning, the creature’s mouth snapped open, and it screamed.

It screamed and screamed, as if an insane madness had consumed it, and it threw itself against the glass, scratching at it, clawing at it, tearing at it. But the glass held. Then just as suddenly as it had before, the creature stopped, its eyes darting once more to Bucky.

It turned.

“No! No!” screamed Bucky, for it was turning back into the laboratory. Back towards Steve.

“No!”

But it didn’t stop - it passed the chair, passed Steve, and Bucky, his breath coming in great gasps, watched in stunned and desperate hope, as it reached the open doorway, its grey skin pulsating under the red light, and crossed through it.

Unable to believe it, unable to accept it, Bucky stared after it, every part of his body shaking in tense uncertainty, and horrible suspicion, but the shadows in the corridor beyond remained undisturbed, and the laboratory remained silent.

It had gone.        

Oh, dear, sweet God. It had gone.

“Ste-!”

But then, then there was a sudden clang, and the door to his cell, with a screeching defiance of metal, began to shake and shudder.

Intelligence. And recognition.

There was no time to think, no time to question.

There was only instinct.

There was only survival.

He looked at Steve.

There was only survival.

Slowly, Bucky stepped back from the glass, and into the centre of the room.

Then he clenched his fists and braced his body.

And the door flew open.

Chapter 9: A Violent Confrontation

In an instant, the creature had leapt through the open doorway, and with an animalistic scream, it threw itself at Bucky.

Hurling himself backwards, Bucky raised his left arm, and the creature’s teeth gnashed at the air, an inch from his face.

With a cry, Bucky swung his other arm forward, smashing his fist against the side of the creature’s skull. The creature – the hybrid – for the mutated intelligence gleamed still from its yellow eyes, shook its head, and sensing a momentary advantage, Bucky hit it again and again. But suddenly, the creature’s arm was coming up too, and before Bucky could react, his fist was caught in a clawing hand, and he was wrenched forward. The jaws snapped shut just as Bucky twisted away – his exposed neck a hair’s breadth from the salivating mouth of the monster.

Yelling, Bucky brought his left arm up, and the creature jerked its head, but Bucky followed it, and grabbing its lower jaw, his metallic hand clamped down over serrated teeth, and he pulled.

There was an ear-splitting shriek, as the sound of tearing flesh rent the air, and a spray of blood splattered across Bucky’s forehead.

Wailing and howling, the creature stumbled backwards, its jaw hanging grotesquely from its mutilated face. His breath heaving in his chest, Bucky fell against the wall behind him, and braced himself.

With a gurgling shriek, the monstrous hybrid leapt forward again, and again Bucky’s arm came up, but the creature evaded it. Eyes wild, savage with agony and fury, it bore down on Bucky, and suddenly it was grasping him in an obscene mockery of an embrace, and he was wrenched forwards into its body.

Bucky cried out in sudden fear. Cried as he was crushed into its embrace, tighter and tighter, as his spine and ribs began to give way under the unrelenting and devastating force. It squeezed tighter still and his cry cut off into a choking rasp, his breath squeezed from his lungs.

“Bucky!”

For just one moment, one solitary moment, the pressure withdrew, as the creature’s eyes darted to the glass wall, but it was enough. It was enough. With a yell, Bucky lashed out with his leg, and the creature stumbled, fell forwards, and Bucky smashed his head down against the bloody pulp of its face. There was a keening cry, and the hybrid shuddered, then his arm freed, Bucky brought it up, and pounded it relentlessly against the side of the creature’s head. Again and again.

The creature fell back, dropping Bucky.

He ran.

Faster than he ever had in his life before, Bucky sprinted the few short feet to the door, and already the creature was moving, already it was scrambling after him. But now he was at the door, he was at the door!, and with a yell of defiance he was through. Clawing hands stretched out towards him, hot breath burned his neck, but Bucky was turning, was grabbing the handle, was pulling it, and with a deafening clang the metal door slammed shut.

Immediately the door shuddered under the hybrid’s assault, but in the next instant there was a high-pitched buzzing, and the creature screamed under the sudden electrocution.

“I hope you fry, asshole!” shouted Bucky, his chest heaving, but already he was running up the corridor.

“Steve! Steve!”

He stumbled into the laboratory, and without stopping to catch his breath, he was running over to the chair. “Steve!”

“Bucky! Oh God, Bucky!”

Steve was staring up at him, a frantic terror in his eyes, and his hand, though tied down, was straining to reach his friend.

“I’m alright, Stevie. I’m alright.” And he realised Steve must have seen the fight, must have sat in panic-stricken horror, exemplified by the chair’s ministrations. “I’m alright,” he said gently again, and then he was reaching around to the control panel, and with a click the straps released. “I’ve got you, Stevie, I’ve got you.”

Carefully, so very carefully, Bucky pulled Steve up and out of the chair, but still he groaned, and clutched at his head. “It’ll be okay, Steve,” Bucky soothed, and he wrapped Steve’s arm around his shoulder. “Come on, buddy, come on, we’re getting out of here.”

Stumbling and swaying, the two men reached the doorway, and it was then that Bucky realised that he had no idea which way they should go.

Suddenly the door to the cell, further down the corridor, shuddered again, and Bucky was decided. “Come on, Stevie,” he said again, and he turned them away from it, and in the opposite direction.

Slowly and quietly, with Steve clinging tightly to his side, Bucky led them up the corridor. Darkness surrounded them, for the passage was lit only by the dim red lights, pulsing intermittently, and long, black shadows stretched out in the corners and intersections. The alarm, shrill and relentless, continued to wail and Steve moaned, and when Bucky looked at him, he saw that his face was scrunched up in pain. Then Bucky felt anew the anger that had burned within him since he’d woken up in the cell. He hoped they’d come across the Doctor. Before they escaped. He hoped it very much.

There was a sudden noise ahead of them and Bucky stopped.

“Where the hell are you two shits going?” The man from the cell stepped out in front of them. A sheen of sweat coated his face, and Bucky saw that his clothes were ripped and torn. In his hands he held the flamethrower, its nozzle glowing a faint red.

“Move out of the way,” growled Bucky, and he pulled Steve tighter to his side.

The man sneered, and the flamethrower jerked in his hand as he brought it up. “I don’t think you’re in any goddamn position to be making demands, do you, asshole?” His hand moved to the trigger. “I’m gonna enjoy this. I’m gonna enjoy this, so fuc-”

He screamed.

For a moment, Bucky could barely comprehend what he was seeing. Could only stare, as a grey hand burst through the chest of the man, his body jerking and shuddering, and then out of the darkness behind him, the face of a creature appeared, its tongue flicking against the man's head, as it sunk its claws into the convulsing body. Then suddenly the man was being lifted into the air, and still he was screaming, his face contorting and twisting. There was a shriek, and he was thrown violently to the side, the flamethrower falling out of his spasming hands.

The creature – smaller and more agile than the other – twitched its head as it saw the two men in front of it.

Pushing Steve to the side, Bucky dived for the flamethrower.

With a screech, the creature leapt towards him, but then it was screaming and squealing, as its writhing body was engulfed in flame. A burnt hand clawed the air, reaching for Bucky, but he pulled the trigger again. A blood-curdling shriek erupted from the thrashing figure, and then with a final shudder, it warped in upon itself, and falling to the ground, it abruptly stilled.

Black smoke rose thickly from its charred remains.

Bucky wiped a hand across his mouth. Pulling the fuel tank off the man’s back, he slid his own arms through the flamethrower pack, and then on shaken legs, he staggered over to where Steve lay against the wall of the corridor. “It’s okay, Stevie,” he said quietly, and pulling him up, he steadied him against his side.

“Bucky, I need to…I need to…”

“I know, Stevie, I know.” And Bucky did. Steve was white as a sheet, and he trembled in Bucky’s hold. Bucky worried at his lip. He needed to get Steve out of here, but he also knew his friend couldn’t go on for much longer. Not like this. Bucky stared down at the creature’s smoking body. “Of course, I have tried replica experiments with his peers. But all five outcomes have been identical.” Bucky closed his eyes. He breathed in deeply, and opened them.

“Come on, Stevie,” he said softly again, “we’ll find somewhere for you to lie down. Just for a little while. But you’ll feel better, Stevie, you’ll feel better.”

And then, with Steve held firmly against his friend’s side, the two men stumbled on, but now Bucky stared at every shadow, and the flamethrower’s trigger stayed in his hand.

---

The door of the cell shook.

Another shriek rang out, and another, and another.

And the sound of buzzing electricity echoed down the corridor.

And the door shook, and shook.

And then it splintered.

Chapter 10: A Momentary Haven

The two men stumbled further and further along the corridor, their journey in stops and starts as Bucky checked every door they passed, desperate for a secure refuge for Steve.

“For God’s sake,” he muttered in frustration, seeing yet another door labelled ‘Laboratory’. Where was the goddamn armoury? The canteen? Hell, he’d take a broom closet at this point. Anything than another damn lab. He let out an irritated sigh.

“Buc…ky?”

Bucky cut the sigh off quickly. “It’s okay, pal,” he soothed, and he patted the hand slung over his shoulder. “Don’t mind me, just thinking aloud.” He pursed his lips in self-recrimination. God, the last thing Steve needed to do was to worry. Right now, that was Bucky’s job. He looked at his friend. It was hard to tell in the red light, but his face seemed paler. He pulled Steve closer to his side, a new wave of concern surging up, and he looked at the lab door again. The room would do for a few minutes. “Come on, Stevie. We’ll sit you down for a bit.” Anyway, who knew? Perhaps there’d be something useful in the lab. “Maybe a laptop or a phone. Hmm, pal? Now that’d be nice, wouldn’t it?” Bucky poked Steve, and smirked, “Hell, I’d even settle for one of Falsworth’s homing pigeons.”

There was a muddled mumble at his side.

“You okay there, punk?”

Steve blinked slowly at him, his eyes wide, and his brow crinkled in slow confusion. “You want…a…pigeon…Buck?”

“Oh my God,” and though they were in literal hell, with rabid monsters on the loose in a goddamn maze of corridors, Bucky laughed. Then with an affectionate grin, he pushed open the laboratory door and bundled Steve inside.

---

To Bucky’s annoyance, the laboratory had so far proven useless. After easing Steve down onto the floor, and propping him carefully up against a wall, he’d found a laptop, but it was password-protected through multiple authentications, and he hadn’t the slightest clue on how to begin to hack it. He shrugged. They couldn’t all be nerds like Stark and Banner. There was no phone and “no pigeon,” he’d told Steve with a grin, who to Bucky’s cackling delight had nodded solemnly back.

He had a momentary glimmer of joy at finding a scalpel, but there’d been no other larger blades, and now he felt disgruntled all over again.

“Come on, Stevie. Let’s -”

He paused.

There was something on one of the workbenches in the far corner of the lab, obscured by the long shadows, so that Bucky hadn’t seen it at first. Curious, he crossed the room.

“What the -?”

A large, sealed, transparent container, filled with some sort of translucent liquid, was sitting on the counter. It was what was suspended in it, however, that had caught Bucky’s particular attention.

It was a head.

---

Bucky stared at it.

It was neither man nor animal, but nevertheless he had a vague flicker of recognition as he studied it.

Comparative to a human, its cranium was roughly the same shape and size – though the dimensions of the lower half were broader and more rectangular. There was no other anthropoidal likeness. Instead to Bucky’s eye, it seemed more reptilian than anything else, for the cranium was covered in a hard, grey, scale-like skin, and the head was entirely devoid of any hair. Its lower jaw protruded slightly from its face, and sharp, canine teeth lined purplish gums. Its eyes were open, and Bucky knew then definitively, as he had begun to suspect, that this was the source of the DNA for the human hybrid – he had stared into those cold, yellow eyes before.

“Ch…Chitauri.”

Bucky spun around.

“Steve! You idiot. You’re meant to be sitting down.”

Somehow the punk had managed to drag himself across the room, and now he was leaning precariously against a bench top. He was staring at the head. Steve pointed at it with a trembling finger, a crease of confusion across his forehead. “That’s…that’s a Chitauri,” he said again, but then he coughed, and his face flushed, and with a pained moan he began to slip down the side of the counter. With a curse, Bucky sprang forward.

“Some people,” he scolded, and he fussed at Steve as he heaved him up into his arms, “some people have no sense of self-preservation.”

“It’s a…a Chitauri, Buc…ky.”

“And we can discuss what that means later, Stevie. But right now, that’s not important. What’s important is getting you better.” He plastered Steve to his side. “Come on, punk. It’s no good in here. Let’s move out.”

He opened the laboratory door.

“Shit!”

Bucky leapt backwards, wrenching Steve with him, clawing fingers missing his eye by a sliver of a millimetre.

“Shit!” he shouted again, but it was lost under the sudden shrieking of a creature, as it dropped from the ceiling above the doorway of the lab, landing in a crouch in front of the men. It screamed again, and as its jaw opened, pieces of torn flesh sprayed into the air. With a jolt of horror, Bucky recognised it. It was the creature from the cell.

There was no time to wonder how it had escaped, no time to imagine what that meant, for the creature was moving – was springing forwards. But the nuzzle of the flamethrower came up, and with a yell of defiance, Bucky pulled the trigger.

A huge wave of fire arched between the man and the monster, and the creature threw itself backwards in sudden desperate fear.

But it was too late.

It screamed and screamed, as its body became a burning mass of molten flesh. It flung itself in a frenzied spasm of agony against the walls and the floor, until suddenly it tore back down the corridor – an inferno of fire against the red shadows.

And then it was gone.

Bucky stared intensely after it – certain the creature would come screeching back up through the darkness – but there was nothing but the red light and the shadows of the corridor.

Dropping the flamethrower to the floor – the gauge showed he’d used the last of the fuel – Bucky pulled Steve back into his side.

“Come on, Steve,” he breathed, “let’s go.”

---

“Thank God.”

Finally, finally he’d found a door that didn’t have ‘Laboratory’ stamped on it. Instead, this one read ‘Containment.’

Stepping inside, Bucky slumped in relief at the sight that met his eyes. They were in an empty room – empty save for the lockers attached to the walls on either side, and a long bench that ran down its centre. At the other end was another door – but it was made of glass and when Bucky hit it in tentative hope, his fist rebounded. He smiled widely. “Transparent titanium, Stevie,” he said, and when he saw that he could secure it from the inside with a simple turn and release lock he laughed. The containment chamber was also empty. Unused. Perhaps that explained the simple locking mechanism. Bucky didn’t care. It was safety. For now.

“Sit down there for a minute, pal,” he said to Steve softly, lowering him to the bench. The blond man nodded slowly, his eyes dazed and unfocussed. Bucky was worried, but thinking objectively he knew the serum had no surplus energy to begin fixing Steve. He needed to sleep, and then as before, he would be better.

And then the two of them would get the hell out of here.

Nodding to himself, Bucky stepped over to the lockers. Snapping the lock off one of them, he opened it. It was empty. The second contained an automobile magazine and the third a wallet. Bucky grit his teeth in a flare of annoyance, but he persevered and opened the fourth.

There was a bottle of water and a bag of chips inside it. Bucky laughed, delighted by his find, and pulling them out of the locker, placed them on the bench. It seemed as if he’d hit a sudden lucky streak, for the fifth locker had a can of coke in it, alongside a bag of candy.

“Thank God for unhealthy diets,” he said, grinning. He opened the sixth and seventh, but both were empty. “Never mind, pal,” he sighed to Steve over his shoulder, but when he turned to the opposite wall and opened the locker there, he had to restrain himself from punching the air in sudden glee. Inside it, and piled up neatly on a shelf, were uniforms – short-sleeved t-shirts and black cargo pants. Rifling through them, he held a pair of the pants up against himself. “Perfect,” and he put them down next to Steve. “Found you some clothes, punk.” He grabbed another pair for himself, and then 2 of the t-shirts.  “No shoes or sneakers,” he added to Steve, “but I suppose we should be grateful we don’t have to keep running around half-naked.”

He surveyed their haul. The food was direly short of the caloric intake they needed, and they’d have to make their escape bare-foot, but considering the situation they were in, Bucky was satisfied. With a pleased nod, he gathered it all up, and then with careful and gentle hands, he pulled Steve up off the bench.

“Buc..k?”

“Yeah, it’s me, pal. Come on, you’re gonna finally lie down.” He paused as they passed the clothes locker, reaching a hand in to grab more of the t-shirts. Finally, he stepped into the containment chamber, and making a haphazard nest on the floor out of the clothes, he lowered Steve down onto it. “Go to sleep, pal,” he said, scrubbing a hand across Steve’s shorn head, until the blond man's eyes began to droop. Then turning back to the door, he locked it.

He breathed.

They were safe.

---

“So, you said it was a Chitauri?”

Steve nodded. God, what a luxury it was to be able to do that without his head feeling like it was going to fall off. He still felt like a vice was clamped around his skull, but the sensation was fading – had begun to fade once he’d slept for a couple of hours, and had drank the entire bottle of water Bucky had forced down his throat. After he’d woken, he’d thought for one horrible moment they were back in the cell, but Bucky had quickly explained where they were and what had happened, and Steve had been impressed with his friend’s ingenuity and perseverance. Was still impressed. But then again, Bucky always impressed him.

“Yeah, a Chitauri.” Steve accepted the candies Bucky poured into his hand, and chewed them absently as he talked. “Remember that battle in New York I told you about, Buck? Well, that was them.”

“Loki’s alien army?”

“Yeah.” Steve frowned. “There was a major operation afterwards to recover their bodies and technology, but I guess with SHIELD being compromised, it makes sense Hydra got their hands on whatever they wanted.”

Bucky hummed in agreement, reaching over from where he sat next to Steve to take a candy from his hand. “I suppose the next question is why? Why splice their DNA?”

Steve shrugged. “The Chitauri were strong. At least equal to us, Buck. Maybe stronger. They were agile too – they could scale buildings easily, and they could strategise.” The blond man bit his lip. “I guess Smith thought my DNA spliced with theirs really would create a god. For whatever twisted purpose he had in mind.” He shuddered. “I wonder what poor souls he used for his initial experiments.”

Bucky flexed his hand, studying the intricate details of the metalwork. “I wouldn’t feel too sorry for them, Stevie. They weren’t good people to begin with.”

Steve blinked in surprise. “What? Did you find out who they were?”

“Oh yeah. I worked it out.” Bucky looked up at his friend. “They’re Hydra’s Winter Soldiers.”

There was a beat of silence as Steve stared at him. “What?”

Bucky nodded. “I’m not the only Winter Soldier, Steve. In the 90s, they began a new programme. The soldiers they used were from Hydra’s Death Squad – an elite group of assassins, second only to me. And that was before they injected them with the serum.” Bucky glanced at Steve. “These people were evil. And after they got the serum? Afterwards, even Zola would have feared them.”

Steve shook his head, slowly, in stunned astonishment at what he was hearing. “What happened to them? I mean, in the 90s.”

Bucky picked a lint off his pant leg. “I trained them. But they were unstable, volatile, unpredictable. Hydra had them put in cryofreeze.” He looked at Steve. “Guess the Doctor defrosted them.”

There was silence for a long moment.

Steve chewed his lip, as he thought through what Bucky had said. “So,” he began slowly, “I guess at least we know what we’re dealing with.”

“Yeah. One-part super-soldier, one-part enhanced alien. Giving us one whole super-enhanced hybrid. God alone knows how Smith did it.”

“And there’s five of them.”

“No. I killed one. Remember? With the flamethrower. So there’s four now.” Bucky paused, “Maybe three and a half, if we’re lucky.”

Steve raised a questioning eyebrow.

“There’s a real nasty one, Steve. The one that almost killed me in the cell. It’s probably Josef – he was their defacto leader. Anyway, I got him with the flamethrower too, but I don’t think he’s dead. Not all the way, at least.”

Steve nodded. “I remember that. Mostly.” He nudged Bucky. “You were pretty magnificent.”

“Oh shut up, sap.”

Steve laughed, then huffing out a breath, he rubbed a hand across his mouth. “So, four hybrid creatures. Enhanced and dangerous.”

“Very enhanced and very dangerous.”

Steve looked at Bucky. “And we’re trapped in here with them.”

“With no weapons, no back-up and no clue as to where we are.”

“Well then,” and Steve sat up, “I guess we’d better come up with a plan.”

Notes:

Brownie points to anyone who guessed the origins of the creatures! :)

Chapter 11: A Change in Circumstances

Steve groaned.

He was in the locker room – stretching out his arms and legs in a seemingly futile attempt to ease the lingering aches in his limbs. Thankfully, his head was now clear, but the aches were bone deep, and Steve scowled. The pain wouldn’t slow him down, but it was an annoyance, nevertheless. He stretched again, and wincing at a particularly painful twinge, he looked for a distraction.

He glanced at the lockers in front of him. Shrugging to himself, and filled with mild curiosity, he picked the locker closest to him, and pulling the door back, peered inside.

“You won’t find anything useful in there, pal,” Bucky called out, and Steve looked over his shoulder. His friend was sipping a can of coke, and watching him with a smirk on his face, from the other room. “Not unless you think we can bribe the tear-Bucky-and-Steve-apart-limb-by-limb fan club with a couple of car magazines.”

Steve laughed, and he turned away from the locker, pushing it closed.

A large piece of paper fluttered to the floor.

It must have been pinned to the inside of the locker’s door, Steve guessed, reaching down with a bitten-off groan to stuff it back in.

He paused.

“Oh my God.”

“You alright there, punk?”

He looked at the paper again. Then with a laugh, he snatched it up.

“Punk?”

Steve waved the paper in his hand, and laughed again. Bucky slowly raised an eyebrow.

“What’s happening? Oh God, please don’t tell me Smith managed to fry the one brain cell in your head.”

Steve snorted, and then hurrying back over to Bucky, he thrust the paper under his nose.

“Look!”

It was a map of the base.

---

The map was meticulously detailed: rooms, corridors, elevators, all were marked on it, and the two men – knelt side by side on the floor of the containment chamber – pored over it with scrutinous eyes.

It was when they came to the same sudden startling realisation that they sat back and looked at each other.

“So,” Bucky said, after a moment’s silence, “I suppose the complete lack of windows makes sense now.”

They had found ‘Containment Chamber’ and the floor it was on.

And the floor’s number.

Minus 8.

Steve stared back at the figure. He ran a hand through his shorn, prickly hair. “Huh. We’re underground.”

Bucky snorted, sitting back against the wall. “Way underground, pal. And going by the five stories above ground?” He whistled. “Damn, this place is huge.”

“We should have worked it out.” Steve scrunched his face up, recalling the long corridors. “There’s a hell of a load of vents installed along the passageways. I saw them earlier today. Yesterday? When we went for the showers anyway,” he clarified, leaning forward over the map again. “They must be oxygen ducts, and some sort of filtration system.” Steve blinked, impressed. “God, that’s some insane engineering. It must have taken a hell of a load of time and resources to set this place up.”

“Guess they thought it was worth it,” replied Bucky. “Didn’t want anyone finding out about their little project, afterall.”

Steve hummed. “Which means, the surface base? It’s not exactly gonna be conspicuous, is it?” He looked down at the map. “I wonder where the hell we are.” He studied it, and then a frown flickered across his face.

“What is it, punk?”

Steve shrugged. “Just something odd, that’s all. See these?” and he pointed at the stories above ground. “They’re getting consecutively smaller. Look at the square footage. It decreases in size the higher the floor.”

“Weird. Almost like a -”

A distant gunshot suddenly rang out. There was another gunshot, and then it abruptly cut off.

The two men glanced at each other.

Steve sat up. “Think that means we’re on a schedule, Buck.” He tapped a room on the map. “There,” he said. “That’s where we need to head.”

Bucky followed his finger. “Control Room,” he read. His eyes flickered back up to Steve. “Why the Control Room, pal, when we can just take an elevator to the surface and get the hell out of Dodge?”

“Because we can’t risk the creatures getting out too.”

Bucky cocked his head to the side, and motioned for Steve to continue.

“We can’t afford to leave the base, Buck, not until we know for certain the Hybrids are either dead or trapped.” Steve pointed at the map. “We know Hydra only build their bases in isolated spots. So when we get out? It’s likely we’re gonna find ourselves in the middle of a jungle or the mountains or the desert. South America? We could be in an extinct volcano, for all we know. The point is, we’d have no way of contacting Fury or Stark until we made our way back to civilisation. And that could take a hell of a lot of time. Meanwhile -”

“- meanwhile, the Hybrids could have made their own way out to the surface and we’d have no way of warning anyone. Or knowing where they were.”

“Exactly.” Steve chewed his lip. “Of course, the guards down here might kill them. Or the creatures might not work out how to escape. But that’s a whole lot of mights we can’t afford to chance. And even if the Hybrids are eliminated, by the time we manage to contact anyone, Hydra will have razed this place to the ground, and we’ll have lost track of Smith and some pretty significant intel.” He looked at Bucky. “So, we have two choices, as far as I can see it.” He held up a finger. “Number one, we try to take the Hybrids down ourselves. But in this maze and with no weapons?” He shrugged. “Together we might be successful – but there’s another might. And anyway, that's forgetting the Hydra guards and Smith we'd still have to deal with.” He held up a second finger. “Option number two, we make our way to the Control Room and radio Stark. Have him send in reinforcements.  Get them to set up a perimeter around the base so we know the creatures – and Smith – aren’t going anywhere. Then with Stark and back-up, we clear this place basement to attic.”

“And if the creatures escape or we get captured again?”

“Then at least the team’s already on their way.”

Bucky looked at the map, and then up at Steve. “I was hoping to get out of here sooner rather than later, pal, but - ” and his arm whirred, “I agree.”

“Yeah, I already knew you would.”

Rolling his eyes with an affectionate snort, Bucky glanced down at the map again. “So, going by this, the Control Room is on the floor above us.” He ran his finger along the corridor adjacent to the locker room. “Looks like we follow this for another 70 feet or so, then turn left, and the passage’ll take us to an elevator.”

“Couldn’t be simpler.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes. “Those better not be famous last words, punk.”

Steve grinned.

---

They were not famous last words, as it turned out, much to Steve’s relief. They had found the elevator as easily as Steve had hoped, and now they were stood outside the Control Room, the lock on the door crumbled in Bucky’s hand.

With a brief glance at his friend, Steve pushed open the door, and the two men stepped inside.

The Control Room was certainly well-equipped. A row of softly-beeping computers - built into the infrastructure of a workstation – ran around the entire perimeter of the room, broken up only by desks and chairs at arbitrary intervals. There was a long table in the centre, a pile of papers and files stacked up on its furthest end, and a laptop on the other. In the left corner of the room was a couple of large filing cabinets, one labelled ‘Staff’. Steve wondered just how many personnel were in the base.

“Over there,” and interrupting Steve’s thoughts, Bucky pointed to the opposite side of the room. There was an isolated station. Seeing the large base radio and microphone sat on top of it, Steve nodded.

The two soldiers hurried over to it. “Power’s on,” Steve noted, and pulling out the chair under the desk, he sat down and began to turn the radio’s frequency indicator, reading the display as he did so.

“You know the frequency?”

“Yeah, God knows I’ve drilled it into the others enough ti -.”

“Stand up, put your hands above your heads and move away from the radio.”

The two men spun around. Three guards were stood in the doorway of the room, black rifles in their hands, all pointed unerringly at Steve and Bucky. One of them motioned with his weapon. “Do it now, assholes. I won’t ask you again.”

“I suggest you do as he says,” and Bucky’s fist clenched as the Doctor stepped up between the guards. Steve stared at him. He looked very different from when he had last seen him. His white coat was stained with a dark, red patch, and the left leg of his pants was ripped from knee to hem. His face was paler, and his hair dishevelled. His eyes though were untouched. They pierced the two men with the same, cold, wild intensity.

“Move away, dear boys.”

When there was no movement, the Doctor sighed. He glanced at the guards. “Shoot the Russian.”

“No! Don’t! Don’t! We’re moving! We’re moving!” and Steve was on his feet.

“Hands above your heads, assholes. Sit over at the table. There.”

With slow, reluctant steps, the two men moved over to where the guard was pointing and sat down.

“What now?” sneered Bucky, his metal finger picking at a splinter of wood on the table-top.

The Doctor, ignoring the dark-haired man, smiled instead at their acquiescence, and then he moved over to the radio. “I’m sure you were hoping to contact Director Fury for extraction?”

Steve shrugged. “Something like that.”

“Well, I understand, Captain, but I’m afraid I can’t allow it. Besides, I have my own contacts – and ones who will be much more useful with regards to the unfortunate situation we find ourselves in.”

“Unfortunate situation?” and Bucky scoffed.

The Doctor sat down by the radio. “Yes, most unfortunate. But not, may I add in my own humble defence, altogether unforeseen.” He looked over his shoulder and smiled again at the two men. “Really, there is no cause for undue alarm. Contingencies have been put in place for this very scenario. As you will see.”

Twisting the frequency indicator, he watched the display, and then with a satisfied smack of his lips, he picked up the microphone.

“Control, this is Charlie Sierra 1, radio check, over.”

There was a burst of static, and then a voice came over the receiver. “Charlie Sierra 1, this is Control. Read you loud and clear. Over.”

Steve glanced at Bucky. He had instantly recognised the voice and by the unimpressed look on Bucky’s face, he had too.

“Rumlow?” said Steve, and he looked at the Doctor. “He’s your contingency?”

“And a very effective one, as you will soon appreciate, my dear boy.” The Doctor clicked the microphone back on. “Control, Tower Bridge has fallen, I repeat Tower Bridge has fallen. Request agreed action. Acknowledge. Over.”

“Tower Bridge?”

“An amusing pre-agreed code, Captain. Much more efficient, I think you’d agree, than any fumbling attempt to explain our current predicament.” The static was interrupted again, and the Doctor leaned forward.

“Tower Bridge has fallen. Over.”

“Affirmative. Request agreed action. Over.”

“Charlie Sierra 1, stand-by. Over.”

The static returned.

“So,” and Steve crossed his arms on the table-top, “what happens now?”

Smith stood up and straightened the cuffs of his lab coat. “Now? Now Rumlow provides the necessary reinforcements to deal with our little problem. And then, my dear boy, business will resume.” He looked at Steve apologetically. “We have been quite rudely interrupted, Captain. But do not worry. We'll soon commence with our little project. Afterall, there is still so much for us to explore – together.”  

A shiver of repulsion ran down Steve’s spine as he saw the sudden excited flicker in the Doctor’s eyes, and the pink tongue dart out and lick dry, flaking lips.

“You sick bastard.”

The Doctor blinked at the vitriol in Bucky’s voice. “My dear Sergeant, there really is no need for -”

“Charlie Sierra 1, this is Control, over.”

“Go ahead, Control, over.”

“Response. Negative. Over.”

His face twisting in annoyed confusion, the Doctor flicked on the microphone. “Control. Repeat. Over.”

“You heard me, asshole.”

The Doctor’s hand fell from the microphone, and he stared at the radio in muted shock. Across the room, the guards looked at one another, and Steve could hear their sudden uneasy mutterings. Beside him he felt Bucky shift, so very subtly, and he began to straighten too. It seemed an opportunity might very soon present itself.

“You still listening, Smith?” The sneer in Rumlow’s voice carried over the radio wave. “Please tell me my old pal is there too. Rogers, I hope to hell you’re in the room. Knowing just how goddamn interfering you are, you snot-nosed shit, I’m gonna guess I’m right. And if you’re there, your guard dog is too, isn’t he?” There was a sudden crackle across the frequency, and Steve realised it was Rumlow laughing. “Damn, this really is the stuff dreams are made of.” The static returned, but even as the Doctor was reaching forward with a shaking hand, the voice interrupted it once again. “So, your pets escaped, did they, Smith?” There was another crackle. “Well, maybe they’ll eat you alive. Jeez, I’d pay good money to see that.”

The Doctor’s hand smashed down on the microphone’s switch. “What the bloody hell are you playing at, Rumlow?” And though he was shouting, Steve could hear the sudden fear in his voice. “Hydra will have your head for this! I demand to -!”

“Shut up, you shit.”

The Doctor collapsed back in his chair, his eyes wide and disbelieving. He bit down on his hand, his body wilting, as the voice continued to speak.

“You know, you’re real pathetic, Smith. Pathetic. But we let you play your little games. Let you have your little experiments. Let you have Rogers. You know that really killed me – handing him over. Shit, the fun I could have had with you, big guy. But you’ve failed us, Smith. You haven’t controlled them, have you? So they’re goddamn worthless to us now. And so are you.” There was another crackle. “God, but I wish I could have seen them tear Cap to pieces. Over. And out.”

“I…I don’t understand,” croaked Smith, and he stared blankly at the radio. “I…I don’t-”

There was a sudden muffled rumble above their heads.

“What the hell was that?!” and one of the guards looked to Steve, his eyes nervous and questioning.

There was another rumble, and then there was another and another.

“Explosives!” shouted Bucky, and already the two men were springing up.

But it was too late.

There was another rumble, and suddenly the room was shaking, and a great crack was splitting the ceiling above their heads, thick dust and broken plaster showering down upon the men in the room.

“We have to - !”

But Steve’s shout was lost in a sudden explosion of noise, a shattering and crashing roar, and then a fiery wave of heat was bursting through the room, and the lights above their heads were shattering, and someone was screaming.

And then there was silence.

And they were plunged into darkness.

Chapter 12: The Enemy of my Enemy is my Friend

Ears ringing and throat burning, Steve clambered to his feet, dust and debris falling from his shoulders as he stood up.

“Bucky?”

“Here, Steve.”

Bucky appeared – similarly dust-covered – by Steve’s side. “You okay, punk?” Steve nodded. The room was in darkness, but there was enough ambient light from a fire burning somewhere outside it for him to see that Bucky was also uninjured. He clapped a hand down on Bucky’s shoulder in relief.

A sudden beam of light flickered across his face, and turning from Bucky, he looked across the room. A guard looked back at him, then he moved, the flashlight in his hand lighting up the rubble in front of him. Behind him, the other two guards stumbled up, groaning and mumbling, but as Steve stepped forward, they brought up their rifles.

“Back up,” one of them warned, and Steve stopped, raising his hands. The guard who had spoken turned to the man on his right. “Go outside and check the elevator. And Garcia - keep your goddamn eyes peeled.” The man nodded, then his rifle still raised to his shoulder, he left.  

“Tower…Bridge...Tower...” There was a sudden clatter of falling debris, and the guard’s eyes darted back into the room and over Steve’s shoulder.

“Still alive then?”

The Doctor gave no indication that he had heard the guard. Instead, Steve watched as he crawled out from under a workstation, muttering the nonsensical code over and over again, until reaching the splintered leg of the table with shaking hands, he dragged himself up with slow, abortive movements. For a moment, he paused. And then he turned and stumbled over to the radio. Or what was left of it, Steve thought grimly.

“I think you’ll find it’s dead,” sneered the guard, watching him too.

“It…it was simply…simply a mistake,” and shaking his head, the Doctor reached out a hand towards the radio.

“You limey shit, I said it’s dead!” and with a sudden snarl, the guard crossed the room, smashing the receiver out of the Doctor’s hand. “You stupid ass. We’ve been goddamn blown up!”

The Doctor said nothing, but he stared at the man, and then rapidly blinking, he fell back onto the warped and twisted ruins of a chair.

“Limey shit,” the guard muttered again, and he turned away from him.

He paused at the sound of harried footsteps outside in the corridor. After a moment, Garcia stepped back into the room. “Elevator’s gone,” he said, breathlessly.

“What do you mean it’s gone?”

“Gone. Obliterated. Half the corridor’s caved in, but it looks to me like they were controlled explosions. Just enough to take out the exit points.” Garcia rubbed the back of his hand across his sweat-drenched forehead. “Those explosives, Doyle? They must have been there this whole time. Rumlow set them off remotely.”

Doyle turned his head and looked at the Doctor. “There’s your goddamn contingency, you bastard.”

Again, the Doctor said nothing, but his eyes widened, and he clasped his hands so tightly, that his knuckles whitened.

His lips curling up in disgust, Doyle turned back to his men. He paused, and then he looked over at Steve instead. He stared at him, and then nodding his head as if he’d come to some sort of internal decision, he lowered his gun.

“Well, Mister Superhero, what the hell do we do now?”

There was a momentary stunned silence.

“Wait a minute. You’re asking him?”

Doyle snorted. “Who the hell else? I dunno if it’s escaped your notice, dumbass, but we’re in a shitshow of a situation right now.” Doyle waved an arm towards the burning corridor. “We’re trapped, Miller. Shit, a whole goddamn building’s on top of us, and there’s a bunch of rabid extras from Alien running loose around out there. So, yeah, I’m asking him. I want to live. Don’t you? And since he’s some sort of goddamn superman, it doesn’t take a genius to work out he’s our best way of getting out of here.” He looked at Steve again. “Well, America?” He shrugged, “You heard me. What the hell do we do now?”

---

Steve studied the map of the base. He placed a finger on Control Room. “Okay,” he said, and he looked up at the men surrounding the make-shift table they’d erected. “This is where we are. Garcia tells us the corridor to the left is blocked, and the elevator’s out. Which means if we want to get out of here, we have to look for an alternative route.” He pointed at another room, at the other end of the corridor. He looked at Doyle. “Tell me about this,” he said.

“Generator Room,” read Doyle aloud. He scoffed at Steve. “Pretty self-explanatory, isn’t it?”

Steve let out a slow breath. “Yes. I appreciate that. But I want you to tell me about it. How big is the generator? Does it power the entire base? What else is in there?”

Doyle shrugged. “I’d say you’d be better off asking the Doc, but,” and then he glared over his shoulder and raised his voice, “seeing as how he’s been as useful as a kick in the teeth, I won’t.”

He wasn’t wrong, Steve thought, throwing a quick look at the Doctor. He hadn’t moved from the chair, and had said nothing more since attempting to use the radio.

“Never mind that,” Steve said, turning back, “just answer the question.”

“Okay, well the generator in there’s about 4 Megawatts. Size wise? Think half a shipping container.”

“So, a generator that large – it’s got to have some pretty sizable fans, right?”

Doyle nodded. “Yeah, so what?”

Steve smiled to himself as Bucky suddenly snorted, and inserted himself into the conversation impatiently. “So, maybe we use them to get out of here, dumbass.”

Steve watched as Doyle exchanged a bemused look with Miller and Garcia. “What the hell are you talking about, Russian?”

“Seriously? Jeez, were you born this dumb or did the Doctor mess with your brain too?” Bucky stabbed a finger down on the map. “Steve’s right. We head there. A big generator means big fans. Big fans means big ventilation shafts. Big ventilation shafts means -”

“- means we can use them to climb up to the next floor.”

“Finally.” Bucky looked at the young guard who had spoken up. “Miller, was it? Give the man a medal – we have someone with a brain, at last.”

“Yeah, and how we gonna do that?” interrupted Garcia. “You’ve heard of gravity, haven’t you, genius? Those shafts are going up – and they’re not exactly gonna have handholds in them.”

“No,” said Steve, jumping back in, “but according to this map, they’re at about a 30 degree angle, so yeah, it’ll be tough, but it’s doable.”

No-one spoke for a moment as they considered Steve’s plan.

“And when we get to the next floor?” asked Doyle, “what then?”

“We climb again, until we get to the fifth floor.” Steve’s finger moved along the map. “See there? We have the second elevator. Looks like it goes from that floor to the surface. We’ll have to walk the length of the base though – it’s on the other side.”

“You won’t make it – they’ll hunt you down.”

The Doctor stared back at the men, who had twisted round at his sudden interruption. “You won’t make it,” he croaked again, and then he laughed. It was a horrible, dry, shuddering sound.

“They’re on the floor below us,” snapped Garcia, “they’re trapped.”

“Not for long.” The Doctor’s eyes gleamed. “They’re intelligent. They’ll find a way, and then they’ll hunt you down and kill you.”

Steve looked at the suddenly uncertain faces of the guards. “He’s right,” he said, and the men’s eyes darted to him. “They are intelligent. They might even, as Smith says, hunt us down. But it doesn’t change the fact that we need to get out of here. We have no idea how stable this base is right now. So creatures or not, we have no choice. We have to leave.”

“And if they do hunt us down, what then?” Doyle’s face twisted. “We ain’t all superheroes, and I know you don’t have any love for Hydra.” His finger suddenly twitched on his rifle’s trigger. “You gonna ditch us, Rogers, at the first sign of trouble?”

Steve opened his mouth to reply, but it was Bucky who answered. “I was right. You were born dumb.” He rolled his eyes at Doyle. “Ditch you? That’s Captain America you’re talking about, asshole. Ditch you?” Bucky snorted. “If he doesn’t lose a limb trying to get you all out of here, we’ll be lucky.” He paused and narrowed his eyes at Steve. “I’m joking, of course. Do not lose a limb, punk.”

Steve grinned.

“Yeah, whatever,” but Doyle’s hand dropped from the trigger.

“Of course,” added Bucky, over his shoulder, “I couldn’t give a shit about you, Doctor.”

“You won’t have to, Sergeant.” The Doctor sneered at the guards. “You’re idiots to trust them.”

“So you’re staying here?” asked Garcia.

“Of course. Someone will come for us.”

Doyle snorted. “Who? Rumlow? The man who buried us alive?”

“It was a mistake. They’ll come for us.” The Doctor sniggered. “You’ll die out there. All of you.” He huddled back in the chair. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Pulling back Steve before the punk could make any attempt at persuading the Doctor to do otherwise, Bucky grinned. “That’s the best news I’ve heard all day.” Abruptly his grin fell away, and his eyes suddenly darkened. “Your hybrids? They’ll find you first. And when they do, Smith? I hope to God they tear you to pieces.”

---

“Ready?” Steve stood by the doorway of the Control Room and looked at the men. The guards were nervous. Steve could sense it, could see it on their faces. And they had good reason to be, but if they were going to do this, they had to have absolute faith in their chances. He turned to face them fully. “We’re gonna move out in a second. And when we do? We’re not gonna stop, we’re not gonna stall, we’re gonna keep going. It’ll take us ten minutes to get to the Generator Room. Those ten minutes? They’re gonna be the most important ten minutes of your life. Because when we make it there – which we will – you’re gonna know we’re getting out of here. Ten minutes. That’s it. Hell, going by Bucky’s approximation of his intelligence, it probably takes Doyle here longer to tie his laces.”

There was a sudden smattering of chuckles, and the tension in the room broke.

“Ready?” Steve asked again.

The guards nodded, their backs suddenly straighter, and their eyes certain.

Bucky blinked at the change, and then he stepped up beside Steve, Miller’s rifle in his hands. He lowered his voice, but Steve could still hear the smirk in it. “Goddamn it, Rogers, did you just give a motivational speech to Hydra?”

“Oh, God. I think I did.”

Bucky laughed, and then with a final grin at Steve, he fell back.

“Alright, men.” Steve switched on the flashlight in his hand, and swept it down the long, dark corridor. “Move out.”

Chapter 13: The Shaft

Notes:

Just a quick note to say: thank you for the kudos if you have given one. It is very generous of you and I cannot begin to convey how appreciative I am. :)

Steve stepped out into the corridor, the flashlight piercing the dark, red gloom ahead. His footsteps echoed down the long passageway and he looked back at Doyle.

“What happened to the alarm?” he asked, quietly.

Doyle, staring into the darkness, flicked his eyes briefly to Steve’s. “The Doc shut it off. Earlier. Said it was annoying him.”

“Pity,” said Bucky, at Steve’s shoulder. He inspected the rifle in his arms and shrugged at Doyle’s questioning frown. “Now they’ll hear us coming.”

---

They had reached the Generator Room.

It had been a long, interminable ten minutes since leaving Control behind – every step they took drenched in tension, but they had neither seen nor heard anything in the corridor.

“So Smith was wrong,” breathed Garcia, and he leant against the wall outside the room, as Bucky ripped away the lock from the door. “Of course he was,” he added with a scoff, but Steve could hear the nervous relief in his voice.

“They’re on the floor below us. They’re trapped.”

“Not for long. They’re intelligent. They’ll find a way, and then they’ll hunt you down and kill you.”

“Maybe,” said Steve, and he looked at Garcia, “but I wouldn’t like to bet on it. Would you?”

The lock fell to the floor with a dull thud, and Bucky pushed open the door. Steve stepped through.

The room was immense. A high ceiling towered above their heads, and the walls stretched away in a long expanse of whiteness. There was nothing in the room save for a vast array of terminals and switches, separated by a criss-crossed partition. And the two generators. Steve raised an eyebrow. They were impressive – and every bit as large as Doyle had described, easily filling most of the space. The guard stepped up behind him.

“On the back wall – behind the generators,” he said without explanation, but Steve looked at him and nodded.

He turned to the other men, and they followed him as he crossed the room until he had reached the furthest generator. And there were the fans. There were two of them, and Steve, though he was careful not to show it to the guards, allowed himself a small shudder of relief. Thank God. They were large – large enough to fit a man through the ventilation shaft he could see behind the spinning blades.

“Okay,” he said, and he turned to the men waiting behind him. “We need to get a move on. Bucky, - ”

“Wait a minute,” and Miller pointed at the blades. “How the hell are we getting through that lot? Shit, they’ll cut us up in a second.”

There was a sudden ripple of fear and distrust in the air.

“Well?” demanded Miller again, but Steve only smirked and looked at Bucky. “If you wouldn’t mind, pal?”

With a smirk of his own, and pushing past Miller obtrusively, Bucky moved to stand in front of one of the fans. He slung his rifle over his shoulder and lifted his left arm.

“What’s he..? Oh my God! Is he gonna -?!”

Bucky stuck his fist into the spinning blades.

Someone retched. 

There was a sudden screech of metal, and a shower of sparks, and then nothing. The fan had stopped, and as Bucky pulled out his arm, he grabbed the nearest blade – now bent and distorted – and ripped it out. He reached forward and pulled again, and then he stepped back, the severed blades in his hands.

“Shit. You’re like the goddamn Terminator.”

Bucky rolled his eyes at Doyle’s impressed exclamation, but as he turned away, Steve saw the faintest hint of colour in his cheeks at the praise. Unable to stop himself, Steve grinned widely, catching Bucky’s eye.

“Punk,” Bucky growled, and he dropped the blades at Steve’s feet. Steve laughed, and then he turned to the mutilated fan. Now revealed entirely, the ventilation shaft sloped up almost immediately, but the interior metal seemed abrasive enough that they should have no worries about sliding back down.

“Okay,” Steve said, and he looked at the men gathered around him. “I’ll take point. Miller, Garcia, Doyle – you’ll follow. Bucky’ll bring up the rear. We move fast, we move quietly.” He paused. “We meet anything in there – or anything follows us in - fire only if you have a clean shot. The ricochet will kill us otherwise. But Bucky and I will deal with any -”

“Yeah, that’s not gonna work for me.”

Steve raised his eyebrows at Garcia’s statement. “If we’re gonna get out of here alive, Garcia, you’ve gotta understand something – this is not a democracy. You want to live? You’ve got to -”

“I’m claustrophobic.” Garcia’s face had paled. He pointed a finger at the shaft. “Shit. I’m not being penned in there.”

“Coward,” Doyle sneered.

Garcia ignored him and looked at Steve. “I’m not disagreeing with you. I know we have to take this route. But if I go in there? I wanna be at the back.”

Bucky arched a sardonic eyebrow. “You sure about that, pal?”

Garcia snorted, a bitter abrasive sound. “More sure than being stuck in the middle, with no way to move forward or backwards if something happens to either of you, or Rogers comes up against a dead end.”

“Wow. Nice to know you’re such a team-player,” replied Bucky, but he shrugged. He tapped Garcia’s rifle. “Let’s hope you don’t need it,” he added, dryly.

---

The shaft was dark and hot, and at arbitrary intervals, there were inverted nails sticking up through the metal, but Steve pushed on, the flashlight in his hand lighting up the tunnel in front of him. Behind him, he could hear the men as they followed – their shuffled crawls, and the occasional suppressed hiss of pain as a hand was scraped or a knee was caught on sharp points.

It was just as Steve was thinking that it couldn’t possibly be much longer until they reached the next floor, that he saw a dim red light ahead. He breathed a grateful sigh of relief, and moved faster. The light grew, and then he saw that there was a large grille at the end of the shaft.

“We’re here,” he muttered to Doyle behind him. “Be ready with the rifle if there’s anything in the corridor.” He waited for Doyle’s tap of acknowledgment, and then he reached out his hands and pushed the grille. The screwed-down cover screeched in defiance, but then with another push, the screws tore away, and it fell to the floor of the corridor with a metallic clatter.

Steve waited.

Nothing.

“Clear,” he muttered to Doyle after another long beat, and then he heaved himself out of the shaft, tumbling into the corridor. He sprang to his feet, and the flashlight cut left and right along the passage, but it showed nothing except more rubble. Across from Steve was another ventilation shaft, and without waiting for the other men to emerge, he hurried across and ripped away its grille.

A stifled curse met his ears, and he turned in time to see Miller spilling out into the corridor, his hand bleeding from where he had caught it on the vent’s lip. Bucky followed him, and then a pale and sweat-drenched Garcia.

Steve looked at them. “Same as before,” he said, and he pointed at the opened shaft. “Quickly and quietly, and then we’ll try for the elevator as agreed. Ready? Good. Then move out.”

---

It was, Bucky thought, as he scowled at Miller’s ass shuffling ahead in front of him, an extremely shitty joke that the universe was playing on him and Steve.

Hydra.

Hydra and them. Them and Hydra.

A goddamn team.

Bucky scowled again. Exactly how had this happened? He narrowed his eyes. He knew exactly how it had happened. If it had been up to him, they would have left the guards back there in the Control Room, and good riddance. But no. God forbid the biggest, soppiest dork on the planet so much as consider that. Of course not. Well, Steve owed him. He owed him big.

“Are we there yet?”

Bucky bit down on his lip, and attempted to swallow back his annoyance.

“How much further?”

His attempt failed. “For God’s sake! What are you, twelve?”

Garcia whined an obscenity behind him, and Bucky bit down on his lip again.

God, but did Steve owe him big.

There was silence, and Bucky took in a relieved breath.

“But how much further is it?”

“Oh, for shit’s sake-!”

“What was that?”

“Are you being ser-!?” Abruptly Bucky cut himself off.

He had heard it too.

A thud.

There! Another and another.

And now faster and faster.

Bucky knew exactly what it was.

Oh God.

“Move!” he shouted suddenly. “Steve! It’s -!”

But Steve must have heard the noise too, for the guards in front were speeding up, and Steve was shouting something up ahead, and suddenly another light flooded into the shaft. Steve had reached the corridor!

“Move! Move!” shouted Bucky to Miller, and the noise was closer now, louder now, and Garcia was sobbing in near hysterics behind him as he began to realise what it meant.

“Oh my God! Oh my God!”

“Just move!” yelled Bucky. “Move!”

And then he was being pulled out by Steve, his rifle clattering to the ground, and he was turning back for Garcia.

The guard’s head and outstretched arms appeared from the shaft, and he was reaching for Bucky. “Oh my God! Please! Get me out of -!”

A sudden screech erupted from the shaft. With a cry, Miller and Doyle sprang backwards in terror.

“Shit! Shit! Shit!” and Doyle swung his rifle frantically towards the opening.

“No! Don’t fire! You’ll kill them!” Steve shouted, ripping the rifle out of Doyle’s hands.

Then Bucky was pulling Garcia out, but suddenly there was another screech.

Garcia lurched backwards.

“Oh God! Oh God! Help me! Help me!”

Garcia screamed, and he screamed. And he slid further and further back into the shaft, even as Bucky pulled at him.

Steve sprang forwards.

“Steve! My pocket! My pocket!”

There was no time for words, no time for explanation. But Steve needed neither. He dropped the rifle as he shoved his hand into Bucky’s pocket, and pulled out the scalpel from the lab. Steve threw himself at the opening. “Pull!” he shouted at Bucky, and Bucky threw all his strength behind his arm, and Garcia was screaming at the agony of being pulled apart between two opposing forces, but just for a moment, a single moment, Garcia slid closer to the opening, and it was enough for Steve. He thrust his head and arm into the shaft.

And stabbed.

There was a raging shriek. Steve stabbed again and again and suddenly Garcia was sliding up the shaft, and with a cry Bucky pulled him out into the corridor.

Steve fell back, the scalpel in his hand bloodied.

There was a thud and another and another. And then a scratching, shearing scramble. Louder and louder.

“Take Garcia’s rifle and get the men to the elevator!” Steve shouted to Doyle, leaping to his feet, and snatching up his own fallen weapon.

Doyle nodded, terror in his eyes. He grabbed the gun, dragging Garcia up from the floor as he did so. “Move!” he screamed at Miller. And then they were running, disappearing down the corridor.

Steve and Bucky fell back, the rifles raised in their hands.

“As soon as it appears, Bucky, as soon as it appears!”

There was a scream and then another and another.

And the hybrid burst from the shaft.

Chapter 14: The Hybrid

A hail of bullets spewed into the entrance of the vent, splintering the metal into fractured shards, and shredding the torso of the hybrid as it burst from the shaft. Blood and flesh splattered across the grey walls behind its writhing form, its screams ripping through the air.

With a shrieking contortion of limbs, the creature fell to the floor, twisting itself in convulsions of agony. Its jaw gaped open and its hands clawed the ground, and still it screamed and shrieked, until with an abrupt crack that snapped the air, its body stiffened in premature rigor mortis, and it stilled.

The two soldiers, drawing in rasping breaths, lowered their rifles. They stared at the creature for a moment, until, with a hesitant step, Bucky moved closer, and reaching forward, turned the blood-splattered body over with his foot. It rolled easily, its head lolling loosely towards them, revealing blank and greying eyes.

“Well, thank God for that,” breathed Bucky, and he barked out a short laugh. Steve looked at him. Bucky held up his gun in explanation. “I’m all out.”

Steve grimaced, and checked his own magazine. “10 rounds,” he said.

“Better use them sparingly then.”

Steve nodded. He turned away, looking back up the corridor. “Come on, Buck. We should hur-”

There was a sudden ear-splitting shriek, and a creature burst from the vent.

“Steve!”

So sudden was the attack that Steve could barely register what was happening. A dark mass – clawing and scratching – threw him to the ground. Grunting, his head hit the floor with a sickening crunch, and a red cloud of pain filled his vision. Then a sudden, unbearable weight fell onto his body.

A salivating jaw gnawed down on his neck, but he had brought his hand up in an instinctive attempt to protect his face, and instead the razor-sharp edge of serrated teeth scraped his palm. Denied its prey, the creature shook itself in rage, and Steve cried out as his arm was twisted from his face by a clawing hand. Then the jaws snapped down again.

“Get away from him, you bastard!”

Suddenly, the creature jerked, and a metallic hand wrapped itself around the hybrid’s throat. Then the weight was being lifted from Steve, and his legs freed, he kicked up, driving his heel into the soft tissue of the abdomen. He sprang to his feet, leaping for the rifle fallen by the side of the corridor.

Behind him, Bucky choked out a cry, and Steve twisted desperately back.

The creature had torn itself from Bucky’s hold, and in a savage and horrible reversal, its hand was now wrapped around the soldier’s neck. Then even as Steve was raising the gun to his shoulder, it thrust Bucky up against the wall, and squeezed.

Steve fired.

There was no recoil.

The gun had jammed!

Steve squeezed the trigger again.

Nothing!

Bucky’s eyes rolled back.

“No!” screamed Steve, and hurling the rifle from him, he sprang forwards and with a burst of muscled power leapt up onto the creature’s back.

Shouting in rage, he brought his fists down, smashing them again and again against the creature’s head, but it only stumbled, and the hand around Bucky’s neck tightened. Bucky’s face bulged, his face purpling.

“No!” screamed Steve again, and then wrapping his legs around the hybrid’s waist for leverage, he grabbed the creature’s outstretched arm with both hands and pulled.

There was a sudden tearing snap.

A white splinter of bone ripped up and through the creature’s forearm, red blood spraying into the air. With a screaming howl of agony, the creature jerked backwards, throwing Steve across the corridor until his back collided with the wall. It screamed again, clutching its mutilated arm. Bucky, coughing and spluttering, fell with a heavy thud to the floor.

“Bucky!”

But already the creature was tearing across the corridor, a savage, raging fury in its eyes, and Steve scrambled to his feet. It threw itself at him, and bracing his body, Steve clenched his fist and the creature staggered from the bone-shattering blow across its face. But shaking its head, it came at him again. Steve brought his arm up, and the creature hesitated. Suddenly it turned away. Towards Bucky. Leaping forwards, Steve moved to intercept it, but it suddenly sprang back, and Steve cursed himself for falling into its trap. Its eyes gleaming, and its tongue protruding, the creature grabbed him, slashing his cheek open with a jagged claw. Steve cried out, and sensing its victory, the creature closed in.

Bucky’s fist smashed down against its spine.

It howled, and twisting around, it brought up its claws to maul the soldier.

“No!”

Steve lashed out, his fingers catching its mangled forearm as it reached for Bucky, and the hybrid contorted, spasming in agony. Bucky’s arm whirred, and the creature’s head snapped back, the metal fist pummelling its jaw. But then its foot was smashing into Bucky’s chest, and he flew across the corridor, falling in a tumbled heap onto the floor. It lurched towards the prostrate soldier. Yelling, Steve grabbed its arm again and squeezed. Bloody bone splintered under his hand, and a scream tore from the hybrid’s throat. Frantically, its other arm flailed, reaching for Steve. Gnashing its teeth, the creature grasped at him and Steve felt himself being lifted up into the air, then sudden pain overwhelmed him as his head was smashed against the wall. Again. And again.

But then the creature jerked, its forehead splitting open from the crush of a metal fist, and dropping Steve it sprang round, catching Bucky’s head with its arm, and there was a horrible crack as Bucky’s cheek fractured under the assault.

Steve staggered up onto his hands and knees.

“Bucky!” His head pulsed. “Bucky!”

Then he saw it.

The scalpel.

Lying in the dark shadows of the corridor.

He lurched forward and grabbed it.

And then with one last burst of strength he sprinted towards the creature.

“Hey! Asshole!”

The creature turned.

And Steve threw the scalpel.

The red light glinted off the bloodied blade as it arched through the air, until with a sudden and sickening squelch the scalpel embedded itself in the hybrid’s eye.

The creature screamed.

All its limbs juddering, it reached up to pull the blade out, but already Bucky was leaping up, and pounding his fist down onto its face, he drove the scalpel deep into the mutilated socket.

The frenzied scream abruptly cut off.

And then in the sudden silence, its body rigid and still, it slowly toppled over, until with a resounding thud, it crashed to the floor.

The creature was dead.

Chapter 15: Unexpected Complications

Bucky bent down, his hands on his knees and took in a deep, shuddering breath. Beside him, he could hear Steve gasping as he did the same, and for a moment neither man spoke; their rasping breaths echoing down the corridor.

“You…you okay, Buck?”

Bucky, catching his breath, held up a thumb.

“Need to take a look…look at your cheek.”

With a groan, Bucky straightened. He looked at Steve, and grimaced. “Ditto, punk.”

Steve wiped away the blood spilling down his face, and stumbled over to Bucky. He frowned, brushing a finger against the purpling bruise on Bucky’s neck. “Sorry about that, Buck. The gun jammed.”

“That’s what we get for using Hydra’s shit.”

Steve snorted, and then he groaned. “Eugh. Don’t make me laugh, pal. Don’t think my ribs can take it.”

“Ditto again.” Bucky stepped over to the hybrid’s congealing corpse. “Asshole,” he said. He suddenly squinted his eyes, and then kneeling down, pointed at a faint scar running the length of the creature’s collarbone. “See that? He got it in Belarus, 1986.” He paused. “Makes this one Josef’s second-in-command.” He leaned forward and pulled out the scalpel. Then standing up, he stared down at the body. “Always was a nasty bastard. He water-boarded me once.”

Bucky watched as Steve’s face paled, and he clasped Steve’s shoulder, stopping him, as the blond man took a step towards the hybrid’s body. “It’s okay, Stevie. Leave it. Besides,” and he looked back at the hybrid and gave a dismissive shrug, “he’s a dead bastard now.”

And he pulled Steve away, leading him back up the corridor.

---

“Where the hell have you two been?”

Bucky gave an unimpressed sneer at the frantic exclamation from Miller. The three Hydra guards were stood, restless and nervous, at the elevator’s doors, all surging forward at the appearance of the two super-soldiers.

“Shut up, Miller,” snapped Doyle, and he looked at Bucky and Steve. “I’d ask the same question, but unlike him I’m not an idiot.” He raised an eyebrow. “Geez. It must have given you guys a hell of a fight.”

“They.”

“What?”

“There were two of them.” Bucky pushed Garcia out of the way, and pressed the elevator’s button.

Behind him, Doyle whistled. “Well, shit. No wonder you look like you’ve gone six rounds with the goddamn Hulk.”

Garcia stepped closer to the elevator, looking nervously down the corridor. “Are they dead?”

Bucky scoffed. “No. We beat each other up, shook hands and went our separate ways.”

Garcia glared at him. “Asshole.”

The elevator’s doors opened.

“Let’s go,” interrupted Steve, ignoring the acerbic exchanges around him, and motioning to the men to get in.

The elevator was dark and hot, but it was moving, and Steve stared at the buttons – one by one lighting up as they passed each floor.

-5.

-4.

-3.

There was a sudden deafening screech of metal, and the elevator jolted, throwing the men to the floor and against the walls.

“What the hell just happened?” shouted someone, as the lights flickered, and there was another ominous screech.

“Oh my God! Is the cable snapping? Is the cable snapping?” Garcia’s voice rose in a shriek. “Open the doors! Open the doors!”

“Shut up!” screamed Miller.

There was another screech, and the elevator shuddered.

“What’s happening?!”

It stopped.

For a moment no one spoke or moved.

“Guess we should see where we are,” said Steve calmly, and he pulled open the doors.

A corridor – the passage obscured by the dark red lights of the alarm - stretched out in front of the men.

“Okay, so we’ve made it to a floor at least. That’s a relief,” breathed Steve, and stepping up beside him, Bucky hummed in agreement. “But stopping?” he added, chewing his lip, “We might have a problem.”

“Might have?” Miller’s incredulous voice sneered behind them, and they turned to look at the sweat-covered face of the guard. “I don’t see how there’s any might about it!”

“Well, it depends on the reason why,” Steve shrugged, and he looked at Bucky. “Going by that noise? And the explosions from earlier?”

“Probably stopped by some debris or rubble blocking the shaft.”

“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking too. In which case, we need to…” Steve studied the ceiling above their heads, and grinned as he spotted a maintenance hatch. “Perfect.”

“You want a boost, punk?”

Stepping up on Bucky’s proffered knee, Steve reached for the hatch.

“Looks locked,” muttered Miller, miserably.

“That’s really not a problem,” and with a reassuring grin at Miller, Steve pushed it. It strained for a second against its clasp, and then with a clang it fell back. Heaving himself up, Steve climbed out onto the roof of the elevator.

They’d been right. A large steel beam lay diagonally across the top of it. It must have fallen from somewhere above during the explosions, and become wedged between the walls of the shaft. The elevator’s sensors – luckily still operative, thought Steve with a relieved wince – had stopped them colliding with it.

“As we thought, Buck,” Steve called down, looking back through the open hatch, “there’s a steel beam blocking the shaft.”

“You need any help?”

“Might make the job easier, pal.”

Bucky nodded, and held up his arm. Grasping it, Steve pulled Bucky up and onto the roof. He looked back down at the guards. “Close the doors,” he said. “This’ll take a couple of minutes.”

“What?” Garcia stared up at him with wild eyes. “Why?”

“Because we don’t know what’s out there.” Steve turned to move away, but then he paused. “Look, it’ll only take a short while, Garcia,” he added, sympathetically, “and then we’ll be on the move.”

He lifted his head back through the hatch again, and looked at Bucky. “We’d better hurry, pal. I can smell the tension down there.”

---

“It’s been five minutes already, and we’re still stuck in here!”

Doyle rolled his eyes. God give him strength. Why, out of all the base personnel, did it have to be these two idiots he was stuck with?

“Listen, Garcia. It’s been three minutes, and you heard the man. We’ll be on the move soon.”

“Easy for you to say,” spluttered the guard, pointing a trembling finger at Doyle, “you don’t have goddamn claustrophobia!”

“Some Hydra elite you are,” interrupted Miller, and he rolled his lips back in disgust. “How the hell did you get put on this project, anyway? God, they must have been desperate.”

“You think I wanted this assignment?” Garcia squawked, his face reddening. “Who the hell would? And now I’m gonna die, because we’re in some shitshow of a torture chamber filled with aliens on crack, playing Happy Families with goddamn Captain America and his psychotic sidekick! And if by a miracle we get out? Rumlow’ll probably kill us all, and if he doesn’t the jungle definitely will!” He heaved in a rasping breath, his face apoplectic. “And that’s not even mentioning the goddamn Mayan temp-”

“Just shut up already, would ya?” Doyle snapped, and he looked up at the hatch. “Hey! America? You almost done?”

“Almost!” came the strained answer, and Doyle turned to Garcia, now huddled against the side of the elevator. “See, so like I said – shut up.”

Garcia made no reply, and muttering to himself about the stupidity of the men he was with, Doyle slouched down in the corner of the elevator. He looked over at Miller. The man stared back at him for a second, then looking away with a dismissive shrug, he began pacing back and forth, back and forth across the short expanse between the panelled walls. Garcia moved over to the doors.

“What are you doing?”

Ignoring the impatiently barked question, Garcia began to pull at them.

“Are you serious?” Doyle climbed to his feet. “He told us to keep them closed!”

Miller, who had been watching Garcia uncertainly, suddenly moved over to help him. There was a dark glint in his eyes. “You should remember where your loyalty lies, Doyle,” he spat, his face breaking out in a sweat as he pulled.

“It’s not about loyalty, it’s about goddamn common sens-”

There was a defiant groan and the doors opened.

“Why the hell would you do that?”

Garcia’s body shuddered in relief, and he leant against the open doorway. “Please, just for a minute. Just for a minute,” and he breathed in the cool air of the corridor.

Miller moved over to stand beside him, staring down the dark passageway. “Level 3,” he read, his eyes straining to read the sign on the wall adjacent to the elevator. He suddenly straightened. “Hey, isn’t the canteen on this floor?”

Doyle, his finger on the trigger of the rifle in his hands, stared at him in disbelief. “Yeah. And potentially a goddamn monster, so we are not leaving this elevator for your midnight cravings.”

Miller turned to look at him, a caustic scowl warping his face. “I wasn’t gonna-”

There was a sudden rush of clawing feet, and Miller was jerked backwards, and out into the dark corridor.

“Shit!” shouted Doyle, “shit!” Still yelling, he pulled the trigger, and the rifle fired, a hail of bullets lighting up the passage.

“Oh my God!” Garcia threw himself backwards and straight into Doyle’s path. “Oh my God!”

“Shut up and move out of the way!” Doyle raged, yanking him to the side, but it was too late.

Miller was gone.

“What the hell is happening!?” and that was the Russian, jumping down through the hatch, the Captain a breath behind, both men staring at the open doorway and the scattered casings on the floor.

“Where’s Miller?” and the Captain was striding towards Doyle. “Where is he? What happened!?”

“They got him! They dragged him down the corridor!” babbled Garcia, hysterically, pointing at the dark expanse beyond the doors. “They got him!”

“They?”

“Captain!” and barely a step from hysteria himself, Doyle raised his voice, as the Captain turned to the open doorway, “it wasn’t the hybrids!”

That stopped the man and his friend. The Captain turned back sharply. “What did you say?”

“They were smaller…and, and, and faster! We didn’t even see them until it was too late!” Doyle forced himself to calm down, so that he could be understood. “They weren’t the hybrids, Captain! They…they looked like them, but they crawled on all…on all fours. And their heads were less us and…and more them. They got Miller.”

“How many were there?” snapped the Russian, and he stared at the rifle in Doyle’s hands. “Did you hit any?”

“I…I don’t know. But I know I didn’t kill them.”

The Captain stepped closer. “How many were there, Doyle?”

Doyle cursed himself as his hands trembled. “They were quick…but there must have been at least five…or…six.”

Suddenly a wrenching scream echoed down the corridor.

“Oh my God! That was Miller!” whimpered Garcia, and to Doyle’s revulsion, he lurched forward and grabbed the Captain’s hand. “Did you fix the elevator?! Did you?! We need to get out of here!”

The Russian pushed Garcia away from the blond man, and then looked at his friend. “You’re going out there, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

There was another scream.

A look that Doyle couldn’t read passed between the two men, then the Captain stepped out into the corridor, and the Winter Soldier followed him.

“Wait!” Doyle thrust out the rifle. “Here!”

The Captain took it. “The elevator should move now,” he said evenly, but he was staring at Doyle.

Doyle nodded, and then he wondered at himself even as he said the words. “We’ll wait here for you.”

There was no time for anything else, but the surprise and gratitude on the Captain’s face said enough.

“Good luck, America.”

And then the Captain and the Soldier were gone – disappearing at a run down the dark corridor.

Garcia watched them leave, then with a frantic stumble, he hurried over to Doyle. He tugged his arm.

“Now’s our chance! Let’s go!”

“Shut up, Garcia,” and Doyle stood by the blinking buttons of the elevator’s control panel, and waited.

Chapter 16: A Series of Choices

Notes:

Another heartfelt thank you to my readers and especially those of you who so very kindly leave feedback. :) You have no idea how motivating it is. So thank you!

There was another scream.

With a sharp look at Bucky, Steve sped up, the soldier matching his pace.

They ran silently, their bare feet soundless on the cold, concrete floor, their eyes straining to pierce the dim gloom of the long corridor ahead.

It was a moment later that they abruptly stopped.

There was a misshapen lump on the floor, unrecognisable in its deformity, and conspicuous in its sprawl across their path.

His finger on the trigger of the rifle, Steve was cautious as they neared it, Doyle’s words echoing in his head.

“They were smaller…they crawled on all fours.”

As they closed in, Steve could see that there was another shape – smaller but longer – on its farthest side, and another, round and smaller still, protruding from the shadowed alcoves of the wall. Steve’s finger tightened on the trigger. Beside him he could hear the soft whirr of Bucky’s arm.

It was only as he neared the deformed shapes, that Steve realised what he was looking at.

It was a body.

Or at least parts of a body.

A torso, an arm and a head.

The torso was mutilated and shredded, its white lab coat still clinging to the limbless frame. Evidently it had been a man. What once had been a man. Steve stepped over to the head. It was drenched in a coating of blood, its hair matted and torn. The eyes were open, and Steve stared at the terror etched into the face.

“Dr Oliver Abson,” read Bucky, pointing to the lab coat’s name and designation tag still visible under the dark stains of the blood, as Steve looked back at him. “Biotechnology and Genetics.” Bucky studied the torn and ripped lump of flesh. He grimaced. “I guess Frankenstein’s monster really did turn on him.”

Steve said nothing, but he looked up the corridor, at the darkness beyond them, and wondered exactly what it was that awaited them in the shadows.

“Come on, Bucky.”

“We’re likely too late, Steve.”

“Yeah,” and Steve looked back at the man’s face again, “but I guess we’ve got to try.”

And Bucky nodded.

---

“They’re not coming back. Why won’t you believe me?! They’re not coming back!” Garcia’s eyes darted from where they had been obsessively fixated on the dark corridor, and latched onto Doyle instead. “We should leave! Please!”

“We’re not going anywhere,” snapped Doyle, standing by the control panel that Garcia had attempted to get to earlier. He had failed. His face still stung from Doyle’s violent defence.

“They’re not - !”

“No.”

Garcia swore at him bitterly.

He stared back up the corridor. Strained his eyes in his desperate attempt to see the creatures before they saw him. They’d got Miller because he hadn’t been watching. Hadn’t been careful. Well, they wouldn’t get him. He wouldn’t look away again. But maybe they wouldn’t come down the corridor. Maybe he was watching the wrong place! Maybe they’d come through the maintenance hatch of the elevator. Or maybe they’d crawl along the ceiling in between the red lights and Garcia would never see them coming. Oh God!

He twisted round. “Please! Doyle! We’ve gotta leave!”

“No.”

“Please!”

“Shut up.”

Garcia tore a hand through his hair and felt a scream building up in his body. He thrust his hand into his mouth and bit down on his knuckles. Doyle was watching him, the ever-present sneer on his face. Garcia bit down harder. Why was it his decision?! Why did he get to decide what they should do?! “They’re dead, Doyle! Dead! We’re waiting here for nothing!”

Doyle didn’t answer. His body trembling in heightened agitation, Garcia lurched towards the control panel. Doyle raised his fist.

“You wanna try again, pal? I might not hold back this time.”

Garcia jerked away. “Miller was right! You disloyal bastard!” He spat his words at Doyle. “Why the hell are we waiting for goddamn Captain America? You’re a traitor, Doyle! A traitor!” His eyes lit up, and he felt a rush of adrenaline. “You wait till I tell the higher-ups about this! You wait till I tell Rumlow. He’ll rip your face off!”

Again Doyle said nothing. His face was blank, but the sneer was in his eyes, and Garcia hated him. Hated him. Why wouldn’t he listen? He gnawed at his lip, ignoring the sudden warm sensation running down his chin. “I didn’t mean it, Doyle.” He tried to laugh. “You didn’t think I meant it, did you?” Doyle was silent, and his laughter cracked. Fell away. “I didn’t mean it! I won’t tell anyone. I won’t. Cos it’s just us now, Doyle. We gotta help each other.” Nothing. Why wouldn’t he listen?! “We need to leave, Doyle! We need to!”

“Be quiet, Garcia.”

And Doyle looked at him, one hand on the control panel and one hand clenched by his side, and his lip curled up.

“I hope they tear you to pieces!” Garcia felt his laughter coming back, and he let it. Let it burst out of him, and he laughed again and again and again, and Doyle’s sneer filled his vision. “I hope they eat you alive!” and then Garcia felt a weakness surge through his body, felt his legs crumbling under him, and he staggered back and curled into a corner of the elevator.

After a long moment, Doyle looked away from him and back up the corridor.

“Plea-” Garcia bit his tongue. Maybe, maybe he should be quiet and still. Doyle didn’t look at him when he was quiet and still. Garcia studied Doyle’s back. He hadn’t turned back around. Yeah, stay quiet and still, Garcia. Quiet and still. And then, Doyle might lower his guard…and then...and then…

---

There was another lump on the floor.

But this time it wasn’t a body.

Steve aimed the rifle, and the lump moved, unfurled and skittered across the floor, from one side of the corridor to the other.

As it crossed into the red light, Steve stared at it.

Doyle had been right.

“They weren’t the hybrids, Captain! They…looked like them, but they crawled on all…on all fours. And their heads were less us and…and more them.”

It was about the size of a small dog, but it moved like an ape: its arms stretching out and pulling itself across the floor, its legs scrambling behind it. Its head was elongated and over-sized, and any resemblance to a human cranium was lost behind the jutting jaw, and the sharp carnivorous teeth protruding from its mouth.

It paused as it crossed in front of them, its head turning sharply, and yellow eyes studied the two men. A sudden scream erupted from its mouth, and then it disappeared back into the shadows on the other side of the corridor.

Steve and Bucky said nothing to each other, but Steve kept the rifle raised as they passed the corner of darkness it had disappeared into.

---

It was the thud, thud, thud of feet running down the corridor that alerted them to the approach of something, but even as they readied themselves, and Bucky’s arm whirred, it was Miller who came pounding out of the shadows.

“Miller!”

He made an inarticulate noise when he saw them, stumbling in shock, but Steve had already ran forwards, already grabbed the man, and he heaved him up onto his feet.

“They’re coming! They’re coming!”

He was covered in blood, a great gaping wound splitting his cheek from eyelid to chin. Half an ear was missing, and four of his fingers on his right hand were gone; now fleshy stumps that clawed at Steve’s chest. “They’re coming!” he rasped again, and Steve nodded, and throwing the rifle to Bucky, he pulled the hysterical man into his side, turning them back towards the direction of the elevator.

“They tried to eat me! They tried to eat me!” gurgled Miller, and he clung onto Steve, staring desperately up into the blond man’s face. “Don’t let them get me! I don’t wanna die! I don’t wanna die!”

“You’re not gonna die, Miller. We’ve got you.”  And Steve allowed Miller to keep clinging to him, as they hurried up the passage.

“They tried to eat me!” repeated Miller again, as if Steve hadn’t spoken, and his grip on Steve tightened. “There were four of them, and they were… but I…I ran when they…when they were eating my… but there’s more now! There’s more now! There’s -”

“Just keep moving, Miller,” said Steve, and he pulled him along faster. “We’re almost -”

Bucky cried out.

“Bucky!”

He had fallen, a black mass of creatures leaping up onto his back, and piling on top of him as he crashed to the ground, his rifle spinning away across the floor.

“Bucky!”

Steve let go of Miller, pushing him forwards, and threw himself backwards towards the shrieking creatures.

With a shout of rage and horror, Steve grabbed the nearest creature, scrambling on top of the pulsating pile, and flung it across the corridor. It hit the wall with a sickening crunch. He grabbed another and another, crushing their necks in the clamp of his fist. He could hear Bucky yelling, and the mass heaved with Bucky’s movement, but more creatures were pouring out of the darkness, adding to the pile. One skittered away, jumping up onto Steve’s back. He twisted, reaching around and tearing it from him, but another took its place. With a yell, he threw himself to the floor, and towards where the rifle had fallen.

It had gone.

And so had Miller.

---

Doyle started.

Miller, blood-soaked and blood-splattered, was tearing down the corridor towards them, his eyes bulging in his head, terror and horror warping his face. There was a rifle in his left hand, and Doyle recognised it.

He looked beyond Miller.

There was nobody else.

“We’ve gotta go! We’ve gotta go!” Miller was screaming the words at him, as he ran towards the elevator, and Doyle’s hand darted towards the button to take them up, but he hesitated.

“Where’s -?!”

“Dead! They’re dead! Start the elevator! The creatures are coming! We’ve gotta go!”

Doyle pressed the button, and the doors began to close.

He stuck his foot out, and the doors paused.

“Move, Miller!” he snarled, and behind him he could hear Garcia scrambling to his feet. “Move!”

Miller sped up, but either he was exhausted or the blood-loss had caught up with him, for in the next moment he had slipped, and with a cry, he crashed to the floor. With a desperate sob, he tried to pull himself up, but he fell back again, his arms trembling under him.

“Help me! Oh God, help me!”

Doyle took a step forwards, and then stopped. He spun round and grabbed Garcia. “Go out there and get him!”

“What?!” Garcia stared at him with wild eyes. “No! No way!”

“Now, Garcia!”

“No!” Garcia stumbled back, his hands raised in front of him, his breath coming in frantic gasps. “You help him! You help -!”

“You think I’m leaving you in here?!” Doyle snarled. “You’ll take off the moment I step out! Now, go out there, Garcia, and get him, or God help me, I’ll smash your face into a pulp!”

Garcia whimpered, but he moved. He looked up the corridor, and then thrusting his hand back into his mouth, he darted out.

“Help me, help me!” Miller stretched out his arms, and Garcia moved closer.

The first creature appeared.

It paused, studying the two men. And then it began to approach, crawling towards them in slow, jerking movements.

“Shit!” cried Doyle, and then he shouted out again.

Another creature had come out of the darkness.

“The rifle, Garcia! The rifle! Shoot them! Shoot them!”

Miller’s face whitened at Doyle’s exclamations, and he twisted around. “Oh God!” he cried, and again he tried to get to his feet, but he fell back. Garcia was closer now, and Miller stretched out his hand and grabbed Garcia’s foot. “Help me. Please! Oh God, please, Garcia! Help me!”

Garcia picked up the rifle, where it had fallen by Miller’s side.

Another creature appeared, and another, and now they were moving faster.

“For God’s sake, grab Miller! Garcia! Grab him!”

Garcia bent down, reaching for Miller. Miller whimpered in relief.

“I’m sorry, Miller! I’m sorry!” and Garcia pulled Miller’s hand off his foot.

And then he turned and ran.

“No! Garcia! Please, oh God! Garcia! Please! Help me! Help me!” Miller’s scream rose into a hysterical crescendo, and Doyle jerked forward.

Garcia reached the elevator.

“You bastard! You bastard! You left him! God damn you! You left him!”

“It’s not my fault! It’s not my fault!” shrieked Garcia, and he gripped the rifle tighter, and ignored the sudden agonised screaming behind him. “They would have got me too! They would have -!”

“You bastard! You had time! You had time!”

Miller screamed again, and Doyle grabbed Garcia’s shirt and hauled him towards the elevator. “Give me the rifle! Give it to me! We can still save him! We can still -!”

“No!”

And then Garcia was bringing the rifle up and thrusting the barrel into Doyle’s chest. “You wanna save him?! Do it! Do it! But I’m taking this elevator up, and I’ll fucking shoot you if you stop me, Doyle! I will! I’ll fucking shoot you! Now move!”

Doyle froze, and he looked behind Garcia. Miller was still screaming, screaming as the creatures tore at him, ripping open his back and his legs and tearing into his face. Then in a single, solitary moment of paralysed terror, Miller’s eyes locked onto his.

“Doyle!” He was sobbing and begging, and a bloodied and shredded arm was reaching out to him. “Help me! Help me, please! Please! Doyle!”

And Doyle moved.

He stepped back into the elevator, and the doors began to close.

“Doyle! Doyle! Please! Oh God, please! Don’t leave me! Don’t -!”

And then when the doors were a foot apart from one another, Doyle saw the Captain and the Soldier, blood-covered but alive, tearing down the corridor, and he knew he still had time to stop the elevator. Knew he still had time to wrench the rifle out of Garcia’s hands. Knew he still had time to save them. But he didn’t. He didn’t.

And the elevator’s doors closed, and it went up.

Chapter 17: A Temporary Interlude

The elevator’s doors closed.

Bucky shouted – an incoherent wordless sound of rage, goddamn Hydra cowards, but already he was turning from it. Already he was following Steve to the black mass of creatures, tearing and ripping at something on the floor. A mutilated hand emerged desperately from the heaving bodies, and Bucky saw a flash of a terrified eye, before the wave of bodies surged, and the man disappeared underneath them again.

Miller.

Steve must have realised, must have already known who the poor God-forsaken son of a bitch was, for he hadn’t hesitated, hadn’t even tried to reach the elevator. Instead, he was already wading into the frenzy, was already grabbing the creatures and snapping their necks. A creature leapt up, and Steve cried out, clamping his hand down on his stomach, the blood seeping through his fingers. The creature leapt up again, and it shrieked as a metal arm smashed into the side of its head. It flopped to the ground. The air was filled with screams and howls and screeches, and the coppery scent of blood choked Bucky’s lungs. His fist came down on another creature, and another. Then suddenly Miller was there, his body twitching and jerking, and Steve was pulling him up, was throwing him over his shoulder.

And still the creatures came.

“Steve!”

And Bucky was grabbing him, pulling him.

The elevator hadn’t returned and already there was a mass of creatures blocking it. As if they knew, and Bucky wondered at their level of intelligence.

He turned back up the corridor. It was devoid of creatures in their immediate vicinity, but who the hell knew how many were in the dark shadows beyond. The last thing Bucky wanted to do was to go back up that passage, away from the elevator, but already the creatures were tearing after them, and he knew they had no choice.

“Come on, Steve!” And then he was running up the corridor, one hand still clamped tightly around Steve’s arm, and the other steadying Miller on Steve’s shoulder.

It was then that he noticed.

“He’s dead, Steve.”

Steve’s arm tightened around the body. “Are you - ?”

“Yeah,” and Bucky shook his head at the look in Steve’s eyes, “it isn’t your fault,” he added, breathlessly.

Steve said nothing, and then - even though there were creatures chasing them, even though they were literally running for their lives – he took a moment to lower Miller carefully to the ground, took a moment to push him into an alcove. And Bucky loved him for it.

Then Steve stood up, and he nodded.

And they ran.

---

“In here! In here!” shouted Bucky, and he was throwing open the reinforced door of a room further along the corridor, for now there were creatures skittering towards them and the creatures behind them were closing in, and it was too late to think of escape.

They were surrounded and outnumbered.

“In here, Steve!” shouted Bucky again, and then they were through the doorway, and with a yell they slammed the door shut behind them, and threw the bolts closed on the inside frame. Instantly it shuddered under a mass of shrieking creatures, and the glass on the pane in the centre of the door cracked, and the creatures thudded against it again and again, and the two men braced themselves. But the door held.

It held.

---

They were in a laboratory, but this one, unlike the one Smith had used, was clearly designed for a different purpose.

Bucky stared at the multitude of instruments cluttering the counters and worktops of the benches. There were microscopes, centrifuges and pipettes, and a whole row of what looked like incubators. There was something labelled a PCR Machine, and Bucky studied it curiously.

“Hey, Steve?” He glanced up as Steve reappeared in the doorway of an adjacent room. “Do you know what a PCR Machine is?”

Steve shook his head, but he jerked a thumb over his shoulder, a strange look on his face. “Not a clue, Buck, but – well, you might want to take a look in here.”

“What is it?”

“It’d be better if you saw it for yourself.”

Raising a curious eyebrow at Steve’s odd reticence, Bucky followed him to the internal doorway.

He paused and looked at Steve, blinking as he registered the short passage bridging the two rooms.

“An airlock?”

“An airlock,” Steve confirmed, and he pushed open the door.

They stepped into the interlocking intersection, and Bucky watched as Steve ignored the red light warning of an open door, and simply pushed open the next.

They entered the room.

Bucky blinked, adjusting his eyes to the blue glare of the lightbulbs overhead. Vaguely he recalled that blue light eliminated pathogens and microbes in the air, and he scanned the lab for what would justify such a precaution. There was a large refrigeration unit against the back wall, and a series of lab benches running around the perimeter. It was what was in the centre though that answered Bucky’s question.

“What the - ?”

There were three cylindrical glass containers, about 3 feet in height, sitting on the central counter. They were secured by two external pipes, and filled with a colourless, translucent liquid. 

It was what was in each of them that gave Bucky pause.

It was the creatures from the corridor. Bucky moved closer. Each tube contained what was clearly the embryonic form of the creature – a small, twisted, physically immature life form.

They looked dead. 

Bucky turned his head and stared at Steve. “I guess this explains Dr Abson’s tag.”

“Biotechnology and genetics?”

“Yeah.” Bucky stepped back. “So, we sorta knew these creatures were linked to the hybrids. But what? They grew them? Cloned them and manipulated the DNA even further?”

Steve shrugged slowly, still staring at the embryos. “That’s what it looks like.”

“But there must be dozens out there. Why the hell create that many?”

Steve frowned. “Maybe they didn’t.” He looked at Bucky. “Maybe that out there is the product of reproduction. Since they escaped. However the hell that happened in the first place.” Steve chewed his lip. “Anyway, whatever the how or why, we’ve now got an even bigger problem on our hands.” He stared back at the tubes. “We can’t possibly let any of those get out onto the surface. We’d have no hope of tracking them down.” He pressed a hand against his stomach, absently, and snorted. “But then again, I guess nothing has really changed. And anyway, that’s a problem for when we finally manage to get out of here.” 

Bucky looked at Steve’s stomach, at the cuts and bruises on his face and arms. Felt the ache and stings of his own wounds. He put his hand on Steve’s shoulder. “Come on, punk. There’s gotta be a first aid kit around here somewhere. And then we can figure out just how the hell we’re gonna get ourselves out of this lab, never mind the facility, without being torn to goddamn pieces.”

---

There was a first aid kit, an extensive one, and for the next ten minutes, and to the backdrop of the creatures still throwing themselves against the door, the two men wiped and cleaned and bandaged the litany of wounds covering their bodies.

Bucky pouted at the tears and rips in his t-shirt. “Wish I’d thought to pack some spares,” he grumbled.

“Me too, pal,” and Steve winced as he peeled away blood-soaked material from a particularly nasty bite. “And I’d kill for a shower.” He ran a hand across his chin, “And a razor,” he added with a grimace.

“Least your hair’s grown back though, punk.” And Bucky pulled on a short, blond strand. “Thank God. You looked like a convict.”

Steve laughed, and he sat back against the workbench the two of them had settled down next to, their legs stretched out along the floor.

“Hey,” he said, after a minute, the seconds filled with the muted screeches and shrieks of the creatures, “do you think there’s any food in here?”

Bucky raised a hopeful eyebrow.

---

It turned out the refrigeration unit was not solely for the benefit of science, for within it - and much to their mutual delight – they discovered three sealed lunchboxes, and a six-pack of bottled water.

The lunches turned out to be some sort of soup, rice and pasta. With an eager grin, Steve pulled the tubs open, but Bucky saw his face fall as he stared down at the contents.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, handing Steve a spatula spoon he’d found in a drawer.

Saying nothing, Steve held the open tubs up to Bucky. Bucky stared at the cold and congealing matter. After careful consideration he thought that perhaps the pasta looked edible – but even that was slimy. “Oh God,” he said, but he stuck the spoon in, and bringing it back up to his mouth, he swallowed the decidely viscous contents down.

“Well?” asked Steve nervously. He studied Bucky’s face intently.

“I’ve had better,” mumbled Bucky, wiping a hand across his lips, “but then again,” he paused with a shrug, “I’ve had a lot worse courtesy of Hydra, so there’s that.” He put the spoon back in and took another portion. He nudged Steve. “Eat up then, punk. A big boy like you needs all his calories.”

Steve shuddered, but he took a bite. “Oh my God,” he mumbled, as he swallowed it down. He shuddered again.

“Enjoying it?”

Steve narrowed his eyes at Bucky. He took a deep breath and swallowed another portion. “I guess it’s better than that canned meatloaf we used to eat in the trenches. Do you remember it, Buck?”

“Remember it? Not even 70 years of brainwashing could delete the taste of that slop, Stevie.”

Steve giggled, and then taking a large swig of water, he looked over to the door. “So, I guess we’d better start thinking about how we’re gonna get to the elevator.”

Bucky followed his eyeline. “Yeah.” He looked back at Steve. “But we’re gonna need alot of energy for that attempt, if we don’t wanna die out there. So, eat up, punk,” and he pushed the pasta over to Steve.

Steve stared at it, and then he blinked up at Bucky. “Honestly, Buck?" he said, and his voice was earnest. "If it’s a choice? I think I’d rather die.”

And Bucky laughed.

Chapter 18: The Corridor

“So,” said Bucky, as he stood up from the floor, using Steve’s shoulder as leverage, “I guess we’d better start thinking about how we’re making it to the elevator, pal.” He looked towards the door. The crack in the pane had now splintered. “Looks like the glass isn’t gonna hold out much longer.”

Grimacing, Steve held out his hand, and Bucky took it. He heaved him up. “Well, first thing’s first,” Steve said, and he pointed to the cupboards overhanging the worktops, “we should check if there’s anything useful we might want to take with us.” He looked at Bucky. “While we have the chance.”

Bucky tilted his head, and then turning around, he picked up the first aid kit. He began sorting through the contents, organising them into two piles: hopefully not necessary but could be useful, and completely unnecessary, thank you very much super-serum.

He looked up, bemused, as Steve gave an excited yelp and he watched as the blond man reached his hand into a cupboard and pulled out a box of matches and a lighter. He waved them both at Bucky with an ear-splitting grin. Bucky grinned back. “Geez, if I’d known all it took to get you excited was a fire-starting kit, it would have made Christmas a lot easier, punk. Do you have any idea how hard it was tracking down that Harley-Davidson?”

“Idiot,” snorted Steve, and Bucky giggled. He held up his hand and Steve threw over the matches and lighter and Bucky stuffed them into the first aid bag. “Anything else, Stevie?”

Steve opened the last cupboard. “A roll of duct tape. And, oh, hey, a couple of scalpels,” he added, picking them up.

“Good. I lost the other one back there in the corridor.”

Steve closed the cupboard. “There’s nothing else, pal.” He walked back over to Bucky, handing him one of the blades, and tossing the duct tape into the bag. He hoisted it up, pulling the satchel over his shoulder and across his chest. “Well,” he said, and he stared at Bucky, “I guess we’re ready.”

Bucky nodded. “As we'll ever be.”

And they looked over to the door.

It was a mass of frenzy now. The creatures had piled up on one another, and still more were adding to the heaving multitude. There was a sudden crack and the door began to splinter. At the sound, the frenzy of the creatures intensified, and their screeching reached an agonising crescendo. The glass fractured.

“It’s gonna be a hell of a sprint to the elevator, Steve.”

The door splintered again.

Suddenly and without warning, the glass pane shattered, and at once twisted and contorted arms clawed through the narrow gap, sprays of blood coating the frame as limbs were shredded on fractured shards. 

“Steve,” and Bucky felt a sudden fear wash over him. A sudden realisation at just how impossible this attempt at escape was going to be. Something must have been in his voice, for Steve turned to him, and his hand clamped around Bucky’s wrist. He blinked at him questioningly, and Bucky closed the distance between them. He felt another wave of fear and he grabbed Steve’s shirt. “Don’t stop. Do you hear me? Don’t stop. Just keep running.”

Steve frowned in confusion, and then he paled, and then there was a sudden fury in his eyes. And Bucky knew he understood what he was asking him to do. “Oh my God, Bucky! Don’t you dare even think it!” and Bucky felt his hand tighten around his wrist, “Oh my God, I – !”

The door splintered again. Bucky shook his head frantically, shook Steve. “Listen to me, you stubborn bastard! We both know we’re gonna be torn to pieces out there! And I’m not gonna let that happen to you! So you need to run, do you hear me! Just run, don’t stop! Get to the elevator! I’ll keep them distracted. I’ll - !”

“No!” And now Steve’s face was red, and his chest was heaving up and down. “Don’t you dare, Bucky! Don’t you dare!”

“Steve!” And Bucky twisted his hand desperately in his shirt, jerked him forwards. “I’m not gonna let you die out there! I’m not! I thought we could take them out, but we both know there’s too many now. So, you’ve gotta run, Stevie! You’ve gotta – !”

But his words were suddenly cut off, suddenly smothered, as Steve yanked him forward and pulled him into a crushing hug. Pressed him violently to his chest, and Bucky could do nothing but wrap an arm around him, his other still in Steve’s frantic clasp.

“You goddamn self-sacrificing bastard, Bucky!” And Steve crushed him tighter. “We’re gonna make it together, do you hear me? Do you hear me? But if we don’t? Then we do that together too.” Abruptly, he pulled back, and his eyes were so intense that Bucky could say nothing, could only stare back at him. “We’re together until the end of the line, Bucky. And if that’s today? So be it. But it’ll be together. It’ll be together.” And Steve was staring at him, and his breath was still heaving in his chest, and Bucky knew there was nothing he could say that would ever make this man leave his side. The goddamn son of a bitch. And Bucky, the wave of fear suffocated by a sudden rush of desperate affection, nodded.

“Goddamn you, Stevie,” he rasped. He nodded again, a jerking, tear-filled movement. “Till the end of the line then.” And then he reached forward and grabbed Steve again. “But goddamn you – do not die.”

And Steve laughed, a short, bittersweet, choking sound, and he pulled Bucky into him once more, roughly and urgently, and then they were pulling apart, and they were turning, and they were facing the door. And then they waited.

It cracked again, and Bucky knew that the next splinter would take it out.

“Steve?”

Steve looked at him. Looked at him again. “I know,” he said, his eyes bright in the darkness of the room. “I know. Me too, Bucky. Me too.”

And the door crashed to the floor.

At once the mass of creatures poured in, throwing themselves across the ground, scrambling up the sides of the walls and skittering across the ceiling.

With a yell, Steve sprang forwards, and the scalpel came down. Beside him, Bucky slashed and stabbed, and his arm whirred, and blood coated the metal plates. He saw Steve press forward again, and then his arm was reaching out, and he was grabbing Bucky.

“The door! The door!” he was shouting, and then Steve was dragging them through, and they were out into the corridor.

A creature threw itself at Bucky’s face, and he flung it from him, snapping its neck. He cried out at a sudden savage pain tearing down his back, and he wrenched his arm round, but another creature was gnawing at it, and yet another was clawing at his leg.

“Bucky!” And Steve was beside him, and ripping the creatures from him, but more were leaping up, dropping from the ceiling, and Steve was enveloped in their swarm.

“Steve! Steve!”

Bucky tore through them, but the mass were relentless, and for every one killed, another took its place.

“Steve!” Steve’s arm reached out, and Bucky grabbed it, and heaved, and Steve, blood-soaked and bleeding collapsed into him, and together they stumbled forward, but now there were creatures in front of them, and behind them, and there was nowhere to go.

And Bucky realised.

They had reached it.

The end of the line.

But he wanted Steve to live. Wanted him to die an old, old man, centuries from now, in happiness and peace. Not in a dark corridor, deep under the earth, in savage torment.

He cried out, and his arm came down again, and the scalpel slashed through the air, and the creatures shrieked before his rage, but still they came. Still they came.

And Bucky pulled Steve to him.

But suddenly, abruptly the creatures were stilling.

Were turning.

And then, uncomprehendingly, surreally, there was the sound of rapid gunfire, and the creatures were shrieking in pain and agony, and enraged, they were tearing down the corridor.

Then the air split around them, and Steve was crying out in speechless astonishment as his shield fell clumsily at his feet, as if it had been too heavy for whoever had thrown it.

They looked up. Confused. Bewildered.

At the man running up the corridor towards them.

“You didn’t think I’d leave you, did you, you goddamn sons of bitches? Now let’s get the hell out of here!”

Chapter 19: Doyle

“Doyle!”

Steve stared at him, couldn’t believe that it was him, but already the creatures were converging on them, already they were leaping up towards them, and there was no time for questions or gratitude.

Steve lifted the shield into his arms. And oh God, how he had missed it. Like a limb that had been amputated. But now he was whole again. And he felt a surge of invincibility.

“Doyle!” he shouted again, and he grabbed hold of the man, and dragged him behind the shield, towards where he had already brought it up in front of Bucky. A creature leapt up at him, and screeched as the shield smashed into its frame, splintering its spine. Another creature skittered forward and another, but the shield met them, and their blood sprayed into the air.

“We should make a run for the elevator!” yelled Bucky in his ear, and Steve nodded, watching as the metal fist pulverised the face of another creature. He lurched forwards, but suddenly Doyle was pulling him back.

“No, no!” shouted Doyle. “The elevator’s no good! We can’t go that way!”

“But -”

“Trust me!” and Doyle shook his head, and there was fear coating his face. “We can’t go that way!”

Steve looked back down the corridor. The creatures were amassing again, and whether Doyle was right or wrong about the elevator, it was a moot point now. Even with the shield and the rifle, the wave of creatures – now rushing along the ceiling and walls of the corridor – was too great.

“Alright!” Steve shouted, and he stepped back. “Where?!”

“Follow me!” and then Doyle turned and fled up the corridor, and Steve and Bucky ran with him.

The cacophony of shrieks and screams increased as if the creatures sensed their prey was evading them, and in a sudden hysteria the heaving mass surged forwards.

“Steve!” Bucky shouted in warning, firing the rifle, and Steve turned back, and saw that the creatures were a breath away. Were at their very heels.

He threw the shield.

It returned, the decapitated heads of the monsters sliding off the smooth rim.

And then, for the first time, the creatures grew wary. As if they finally understood that the two men before them were dangerous.

They slowed down. Skittered towards one another, crawled into the shadows, and watched, their yellow eyes blinking from the corners and alcoves of the corridor.

“In here!” gasped Doyle, and Steve and Bucky turned, and saw him pass through a door, and they followed him. Doyle slammed the door shut behind them, locking it with shaking hands.  

“Goddammit, Doyle!” and Steve understood Bucky’s sudden rage. “This isn’t an exit! Why the hell have you brought us in here?!”

And Steve frowned, and bit down on the anger surging through him too.

Doyle had led them into a canteen.

And when Steve looked back at the door, the creatures were once more pressing themselves against it, once more throwing themselves against the frame.

“You asshole, Doyle!” shouted Bucky. “We’re just as trapped as we were before!”

---

Steve stepped further into the room. The canteen was a mess. Cutlery and plates were spewed across the floor, and there was the smell of something burnt emanating from the kitchen behind the service counter. Beyond it, the far wall was coated in a spray of blood.

There was a noise behind him, and Steve turned, watching as Doyle picked up an upended chair with a groan, and righting it, slowly sat down.

Steve stared at him, and then he held out a hand. “Apart from the fact that we seemed to have jumped from the frying pan into the fire, Doyle? I’m grateful. More than I can say.”

For a moment, Doyle did nothing but then he slowly reached forwards and took the proffered hand.

Bucky narrowed his eyes at the interaction, but abruptly he sighed, as if he had come to some sudden decision. “That goes for me too,” he said, and there was an apology in his tone. “You saved us back there.”

Doyle crossed his arms, and shook his head. “You’re right to call me an asshole. I ran off – left both of you to die. I knew what I was doing. I made that choice.” He barked out a sour laugh. “God, but I felt like such a piece of shit in that ride up.” He paused. “Miller?”

“Dead.”

A flash of guilt crossed Doyle’s face, but he nodded slowly. “I figured.”

“Garcia?” asked Steve, as he sat down opposite him, and Doyle shook his head.

“Dead?”

“Dead. Or as good as,” said Doyle. He stared at the two men. “Do you believe in hell?” he asked abruptly.

Steve and Bucky glanced at one another.

“Yes,” said Bucky.

“You sound certain.”

Bucky snorted, picking up his own chair. “I’ve been there, pal.”

Doyle looked at him. “Yeah, I guess you have. But not like this, not like this.” He uncrossed his arms, and ran a hand through his hair. Steve saw that it was still shaking. “Cos that’s what it is. Up there.” He pointed his finger above their heads. “It’s hell.” He crossed his arms again, pressing them against his stomach. “When we…left…you, you and Miller, the elevator took us up to the floor just below the surface. It didn’t go any further. But that was okay. We knew that a flight of stairs would take us to ground level.” He bit his lip. “We knew we’d have to walk the length of the corridor to reach them, but, well,” and he laughed – a dry, humourless sound – “we figured we’d left all the creatures down here with you.” His laughter cut off. “We were wrong, of course. I don’t know how they’ve got up there, but they have.” He shrugged. “Maybe they climbed the vents all the way up.”

Steve leaned forward. “Which creatures are up there, Doyle?”

Doyle stared at him. “One of the big ones. And the smaller ones. They’re up there too.” He shuddered. “The thing of it is? We didn’t even notice. Didn’t even realise. Until we saw the bodies.”

“Bodies?”

Doyle nodded, slowly. “They’d been half eaten. Torn to pieces. Men and women.”

“Scientists?” Bucky asked.

“Yeah. Guards too.” Doyle’s face abruptly contorted into a smile, and it was twisted and warped. “You’re thanking me for saving you?” He pointed at the shield, leaning up against the table’s leg, and looked back at the two men. “I should be thanking you. That saved me.” He wrapped his arms across his stomach again. “Have you got any water?” he asked suddenly.

Steve blinked at the non-sequitur, but he said nothing, and opening the satchel, he pulled out a bottle. “Here,” he said. He studied Doyle’s face. “Take five for a moment,” he added, and stood up. “Bucky and I are gonna look for provisions,” and Bucky nodded.

The canteen may have been a mess, but when they checked, the cupboards were still brimming with a variety of foods, and Steve and Bucky beamed at each other in delight.

It was only a matter of a few minutes later, and the satchel was now full – courtesy of the apples, dried meats, canned beans, candy bars and water purification tablets stuffed inside it.

“It feels like Christmas!” grinned Steve, as he slung the bag back around his shoulder.

“A goddamn Harley Davidson.”

Steve laughed, and then set to making a pile of sandwiches with the loaf they’d found in the bread box. “Peanut butter or cheese?”

“I’d kill for either.” Bucky glanced over at Doyle. “Do you trust him?”

Steve plated the sandwiches, and stepped up next to his friend. “Yeah, I think so. You?”

“I think so too.” Bucky scowled. “Doesn’t really feel right though, does it? Trusting Hydra.”

“Guess there’s a first time for everything.”

“Says the man who won’t style his hair past 1945.”

Steve laughed again. “Come on, jerk,” and he pulled his friend back over to the table. He offered the plate to Doyle.

“No thanks,” the guard replied, turning away from it.

“You should eat,” said Bucky, taking a large bite out of his own sandwich. “Don’t know when we’ll next get a chance.”

Doyle said nothing, but he took a sandwich. He didn’t eat it though, and Steve frowned as he noticed the tremble in his fingers. “Are you okay, Doyle?”

“Fine,” and Doyle put the sandwich down. He took another drink of the water.

“So,” said Bucky, “you said the shield saved you.” He looked at Doyle impressively. “Did you use it?”

Doyle spluttered out a laugh. “God, no,” he said, and he wiped his mouth. “I could barely lift it.” He looked again at the shield. “I saw it – when we were about a third of the way down the corridor. It was lying on a table in one of the rooms. And that’s when I knew.”

“Knew? Knew what?”

“Knew I’d never be able to live with myself if I didn’t try and help you. God, never thought I’d say that about Captain America and the infamous Winter Soldier. Anyway, we had the rifle. And now the shield. And we’d left you here. To die.” He gulped down more of the water. “So, I told Garcia. Said I was going back for you. He didn’t like that. But I took the rifle off him, and headed back for the elevator anyway.” He chewed his lip. “I told him to come with me. We’d seen the bodies. But he thought that the creatures had moved on. I expect he was lying to himself. He was desperate to get out.” Doyle stared at the water bottle in front of him. “I left him standing there, and he said I was a fool. It was the last thing he said. They came out of the darkness behind him. And I ran.”

For a moment, no one spoke.

“You said we couldn’t use the elevator. Because of the creatures up there?” asked Steve, as he watched Doyle take another drink of water.

“Yeah. Look, I know you two have a better shot than anyone else at reaching those stairs, but it’s not worth the risk.”

“It is when we need to get out,” said Bucky.

“Not when there’s another way.”

“What?”

Doyle nodded slowly.

“Another way?” Steve frowned. “Where? And why is this the first time we’re hearing about it?”

Doyle shrugged. “Didn’t really think about it before. It might not even be a sure thing. But…but it’s a hell of a better chance than trying for the stairs.” He shuddered. “Believe me.”

Steve leaned back. “Okay. So this other way. What is it?”

Doyle coughed, and he crossed his arms again around his chest. “I’m guessing you worked out you’re not in Moldova anymore?”

“Yeah. Somewhere in South America?”

Doyle looked vaguely impressed. “Not bad, Captain. Not quite right. But not bad.”

“Central?”

“You’ve hit the jackpot. To be fair, I’m impressed you worked out you weren’t in Europe anymore.”

Steve smiled. “Now you’re just being nice. And incidentally? That’s something I never thought I’d say about Hydra.”

Doyle smirked. He rubbed a hand across his head. “Guatemala, to be precise. And to be even more precise? We’re in about just the remotest part of the Selva Maya jungle as you could find. And if you get out of here and up there? You’d…you’d better hope Rumlow hasn’t cleared out the Jeeps. It’ll be a hell of a trek out otherwise. We’re talking somewhere bigger than the size of England.”

Bucky cocked his head. “So just how the hell did Hydra manage to build this facility? In the middle of literal nowhere, I mean.”

Doyle smiled. “We didn’t build it. We modified what was already here.”

Steve and Bucky looked at each other in mutual confusion. “What the hell are you talking about, Doyle?” frowned Bucky.

“If the literal hybrid monsters haven’t already blown your minds,” said Doyle, “this very well might. We didn’t have to build anything. Sure, we had to modify the hell out of it, and it took a shit load of engineering, but this facility? It really isn’t the underground bunker you might think it is.”

“So what is it then?” asked Steve, but then even as he asked it, he remembered the map in the containment chamber and poring over it with Bucky, and a half-forgotten conversation about the floors and layout played suddenly in his head.

“They’re getting consecutively smaller. Look at the square footage. It decreases in size the higher the floor.”

“Weird. Almost like -”

“A temple,” Steve blurted out and his eyes widened in surprised awe. “Oh my God. We’re inside a temple.”

And Doyle nodded.

---

“What the hell do you mean we’re inside a temple? What temple? How? Why?” And Bucky stood up. “What?”

“I said it might blow your mind,” smirked Doyle. “Looks like I was right.” He shrugged. “What’s the one thing Hydra values above anything else when it comes to selecting their bases? Remoteness. Inconspicuousness.”

“So they chose a goddamn temple?” asked Bucky, with a snort.

“A Mayan temple, to be exact. One of many still undiscovered by modern man. Well, excluding Hydra, of course.”

Bucky snorted again. “Of course.” He sat down. “So, what? We’re not actually underground?”

Doyle coughed again. “No, we are. Very much so. These temples? The Mayans used them for sacrificial worship, right? Like we all learnt about in high school. But…but that’s only the structure we see above ground. The foundations? They go way below the surface. Huge caverns and winding tunnels that once served as tombs. Or gateways to the underworld. Maybe they were natural formations in the rock, maybe the Mayans were more advanced than we thought. Either way? They exist.”

“You seem weirdly knowledgeable about this,” teased Steve.

Doyle laughed. “Not really, believe me.” He shrugged a shoulder. “It’s only what Smith told me once. When they were building the facility. I wasn’t…I wasn’t really listening at the time.”

“So a temple,” said Bucky again.

“At least on the outside,” nodded Doyle. “The perfect disguise I guess for a secret torture chamber and a mad scientist laboratory. Last place anyone would look.”

Steve chewed his lip. “So this other way you told us about?”

Doyle wiped a bead of sweat from his upper lip. “Yeah, it might just give you a chance of getting out of here. At the other end of this corridor? You’re…you’re gonna find a sealed doorway. Won’t give you any issue. Anyway, it’ll lead you to the outside of this building. We didn’t build the facility to fit the caverns exactly, of course. So beyond that door? You’re gonna find a whole warren of tunnels. And they might just lead you up and out.”

“Might?”

“Gotta lead somewhere, right?”

Steve sat back. He looked at Bucky. “What do you think, Buck?”

“I think it sounds crazy – all of it – but then again this whole thing has been mad, so what’s new?” He shrugged. “I’d say it’s worth a chance. No point facing the creatures, if we can get out unscathed.”

Steve nodded. “I agree.” He turned to Doyle and then he paused as a sudden realisation hit him. “You said you.”

“What?”

“You. You’re gonna find a sealed doorway. Won’t give you any issue. Anyway, it’ll lead you to the outside of this building. Not we or us.” He stood up, and stepped over to Doyle. “You keep drinking that water, and your fingers are shaking.” His words were soft, and his touch even more so as he knelt down and pushed Doyle’s crossed arms apart so very carefully. “And you keep protecting your stomach.” He looked up at Doyle’s staring eyes. “Can I?” he asked, and he motioned to the zipped-up jacket Doyle was wearing. Slowly, the Hydra guard nodded, and Steve undid it. And he pulled up the black t-shirt underneath.

Blood spilled out across Steve’s hand and onto the floor, from the gaping wound in Doyle’s stomach.

“Doyle,” and Steve’s voice was breathless, as he stared at the mutilation.

Doyle shook his head, and he wiped a hand across his mouth. “Don’t worry about me, Captain. Nothing…nothing you can do anyway.”

“Why didn’t you say something? Why didn’t you -?!” And Bucky’s voice was angry, but Doyle only smirked up at him.

“Look at that. Is that the Winter Soldier actually worrying about me? Wish I could tell the boys. They’d…they’d get a kick out of it.” He coughed again, and Steve fumbled desperately in the bag for bandages.

With a grimace, Doyle pushed them away. “No point wasting them on me, Captain. You…you might need them. It’s a literal jungle out there, afterall,” and he grinned, weakly.

“We can still help you, Doyle.” Steve took his hand and squeezed it. “Let us help you. Let us - ”

“No.” Doyle’s eyes flickered down to his stomach. “Don’t…don’t get me wrong. I don’t wanna die…I really…I really don’t. I wanna live. But…but I’m not much good at false hope either.” He looked again at the two men. “I never did much good in my life. I did a lot of bad. But…but not much good…not until now. I’m glad I came back down here…I wouldn’t have lived anyway…but at least down here? At least this is something good. Something good I’ve done.” His breath hitched, but he swallowed back his pain, and Steve could see the strain in his entire body as he fought back the weakness rapidly overcoming him so that he could speak. “Help me? You already have…I lived for nothing…but now? Now, I’m dying for something.”

“Doyle…”

“Just don’t…don’t let them eat my body, Captain. My mom, I don’t think…I don’t think she’d like…like that.”

Doyle’s hand slipped, and his eyes closed.

“Captain?” And there was a sudden fear in Doyle’s voice.

Steve squeezed his hand. “I’m here, Doyle. I’m here. Bucky too.”

“Don’t…don’t leave me. I don’t wanna…I don’t wanna die…alone.”

“We’re here, Doyle, we’re here.” And Steve forced the crack in his voice away, and squeezed Doyle’s hand again. “We’re with you.” Quietly, Bucky stepped forward, and gripped Doyle’s shoulder. “We’re with you.”

“Good…That’s good…I’ll be…I’ll be okay in a minute…and then we’ll all…we’ll all get out of…”

And then, between one slow breath and the next, he was gone.