Bucky’s wet eyes were pleading with his partner. “Are you listening? Steve!”

He grabbed the other man’s arm urgently and pulled him closer with panicked force. “She can’t see me like this!” 

“Incguka!” the woman called again. “Ukhona na?” Are you there? 

“The blankets!” Steve sprang into action. He ran over to the hamper, turned it around, and emptied their entire laundry onto the floor. Searching through it frantically while Bucky watched, he grabbed the grey wool blanket with the least noticeable footprints.

“Here. Let me—” 

Bucky extended his arm, self-conscious about the exposure as the ripped Shuka slid further down his body without the support. Thankfully, Steve didn’t take the time to look too closely. Instead, he wrapped the blanket fast and efficiently around Bucky like a cocoon. 

When he was finished Steve took an assessing step back. “There,” he said. “That’s better.”

Bucky agreed with him but didn’t move from his spot, unsure how to proceed in his state.  

“You want me to get rid of her?” Steve asked, ready to take the assignment, any assignment that gave him something to do. 

“No, she’s not gonna leave. I have to go to her. I think I know who she is.”

Steve nodded. “Wait here.”

He ripped a pack of wet wipes out of the cabinet and started to dab at Bucky’s sullied face, unhesitant but mindful of his cuts and broken nose. 

“Ingcuka!” 

Steve continued to wipe the blood from Bucky’s lips with a tortured expression. 

“One moment! Damn it... Ndiyeza!” Bucky called out. I’m coming.

When Steve finally paused to judge wheather he was satisfied with the state of Bucky’s appearance like some sort of expert, his boyfriend pushed the offending wipe aside and waddled outside the hut slowly, like an old man, ignoring the sharp sting and disgusting trickle between his legs that he didn’t want to think about. 

He blinked against the low light of the setting sun which blinded his red-rimmed eyes and faced his visitor.

Bucky had guessed correctly. 

It was Shila - Arih’s mom. 

She rushed past Steve who tried to place himself in front of Bucky like a shield without success and threw herself in his arms. Bucky flinched and tried to keep his filthy body off of her. He probably reeked of blood, and sweat, and dried come but she didn’t seem to notice. 

“You took care of my baby!” she cried in English, her pronounciating flawless enough to fool a native speaker. “You saved her!”

“I—I...” Bucky stuttered, completely overwhelmed. He could hardly stand. 

Steve put a hand on her shoulder, trying to persuade her to let go. “Ma’am? Ma’am! Now is not the right time!”

She didn’t listen. “Usikelelke! Usikelelke!” Bless you, she repeated again and again, completely ignoring Steve’s looming presence. “Usikelelke! Oh, Ingcuka! What did they do to you? Are you hurt?”

“Don’t worry about me,” Bucky said, dismissing her with false bravado and the bad imitation of a crooked smile. “I’m fine.” 

Judging by the look on her face it had lost its charm entirely. She didn’t buy a word he said. 

“She told me what they did! I couldn’t believe it... Who was it?” Shila asked, pulling away at arms length to take in his appearance, eyes skittering over the blood on his bare feet which peaked out beneath the blanket and flying up to his face and the bruises that were forming around his neck without a doubt. 

In other circumstances Bucky would have been proud of Arih’s communication skills - but not this time. He hadn’t let himself think about the possibility of the parents knowing about the extend of his violation, too. The thought turned his stomach. 

“It’s nothing,” Bucky told her with a brave face. He wanted to run and hide. “I swear. Ndilungile.” I’m ok.

“Who was it?” Shila asked again gravely like she meant to murder all of Hydra herself. She reached out and took his unwashed hand in his. A few splinters from the table were still stuck there but Bucky was afraid he might crush her if he pulled away with too much force, so he held on as lightly as he could without breaking her hand.

He sighed, suddenly riddled by horrible guilt. “I’m sorry Ma’am. They’re... They were men I used to know. Bad men. I’m so sorry that your daughter got caught up in that! I will never forgive myself—”

“Iphosakelo!” Nonsense. She shushed him with a finger to his lips which he had bitten bloody earlier in order to stifle his own screams. “She told me you protected them all! She told me what you did for them! The game...” 

“Game?” Steve asked under his breath. Bucky shook his head. He couldn’t talk about this now.

“Thank you! I will never forget what you did for my daughter!” Shila said, tears springing from her eyes. “Never! Ndi thembisa!” I promise. 

She pressed his hand once again and let go.

“Ma’am?” Steve tried again. Sensing an opportunity, he put his arm around her like a gentleman and steered her away from Bucky gently. “We’re glad that your daughter is alright but you need to leave now. Don’t you see? He needs to rest.”

She nodded understandingly and let him move her, taking another polite step back. “I just came to express my gratitude. He’s a good man. He did an honorable thing.” 

‘Honorable?’ Bucky thought incredulously, surpressing the hysterical urge to laugh again. ‘You just thanked me for getting raped.’

Steve must have thought the same thing. Nevertheless, he gave her his most-convincing fake Captain America smile and turned her around slowly. “Thank you, ma’am. We’ll take it from here.”

“Of course,” Bucky heard her say as Steve walked her further away in the opposite direction of their property, “but I will come back tomorrow. You take care of him! If he needs anything, you let me know! He’s family now. Family!” 

“I get it,” Steve said. “I’ll tell him.”

He accompanied her to the outer edge of the goat fence and further down the road. When he was sure that she would stay out of sight, well on her way back to her daughter, he turned around and ran up to their little hut as fast as he could, eager to be at Bucky’s side again. 

By the time he arrived, Bucky sat on the floor in front of their home, his back leaning against the clay wall. Silent tears were falling from his eyes, soaking the blanket in a darker grey. He seemed to be too tired to pick up his head. 

“Help me get out of this?” Bucky requested weakly without looking up, voice threatening to break on every word. He pulled on the blanket like it was suffocating him. 

“Of course,” Steve said. “Whatever you need, Buck. Whatever you need.” 

Steve shouldered the free-standing bathtub that used to be connected to the sewage system behind their home and dragged it to the place where they normally slept. The delicate net of pipes had been damaged when he’d dismantled it carelessly but Steve counted his losses. Pipes could be fixed. Bucky on the other hand...

Steve hadn’t managed to convince his partner to go to the hospital, treat his wounds or wash himself outside under the open sky no matter what he said. Bucky didn’t want to risk being seen by anyone - least of all by another parent - so Steve had to come up with a different solution he could live with.

He cursed himself for not being home sooner. If he had been he would have died before letting them touch a hair on Bucky's head again. Poor Bucky who had suffered so much already. They wouldn't have come within 10 feet of him before they lay dead on the ground. 

Now, it was too late and there was no one left to fight, no battle to win. All he could do with his supersoldier strength was to take care of his partner’s injuries and help him through the trauma. Steve was going to take care Bucky for as long as he had to. If it came to that he'd personally wash and feed and change Bucky until the day he died without complaining.

He wondered though, if they were bound to play this horrible game for all eternity - Steve letting Bucky down, them losing each other, Bucky paying the price for overcoming death by his own suffering... It had to stop.

When Steve had gotten him back after the snap, he'd sworn to honor their relationship, to enjoy every moment as if it was their last. Then he’d failed again nonetheless, distracted by the struggles of the modern world.

At the time, resurrection had seemed like just another step on their way to overcome fate’s desire to keep them apart. It was a different miracle, a simpler one, that they had found each other in the new century, working their way back from the ice, and the brainwashing, and the various horrors they had faced - but not less impressive. They could do it again. As long as they lived they belonged only to each other. Body and soul. Hydra couldn't change that. No matter how hard they tried.

Steve jogged down to the lake, carrying the big cauldron which Bucky used to cook their meals ‘the traditional way’, and filled it with water. Then he propped it on his head and ran back as fast as he could without spilling too much. He failed two times, having to reload it after a misstep in his clumsiness. Steve’s enhanced body wouldn’t stop shaking with grief and anger about the assault, about Hydra and his own mistakes. What kind of a person could do something so vile to another? 

Once he had managed to carry the water inside the hut, Steve hooked the chains of the cauldron into their reinforced mount over the fire and heated it. Bucky still sat on the floor besides the table where Steve had put him, clutching the blanket that surrounded his body, staring into nothing. 

“Bucky? Buck?” Steve tried, squatting down beside him. “How hot do you want it?” 

Bucky kept staring. Steve thought he hadn’t understood and was ready to give up when he looked up suddenly, expression grim. “Boiling.” 

Steve winced. He nodded but disregarded the request. Bucky didn’t mean it. He waited until the water was warm enough to bathe his hand in it comfortably, then he emptied it into the tub and got their biggest towel from the closet, a dark blue color that would hopefully mask the blood stains. He placed it on a wooden chair and faced his partner. 

“Are you ready?” he asked Bucky gently, keeping his voice down. “Still don’t want a doctor?” 

“Nah,” Bucky said. “They can’t help me now. I just want to be clean.” 

Steve sighed. “OK...” He circled around and got behind Bucky, carefully telegraphing his movements beforehand so he wouldn’t spook him and pulled him to his feet. Then he began to unwrap the folded blanket.

He was barely halfway done when Bucky stopped him. 

“I can do it myself. Turn around,” he ordered in a strict tone, wavering only slightly at the end. 

Steve swallowed hard. “Buck, whatever it is... I don’t care how it looks, ok?” 

“I do,” Bucky said tightly, suppressed anger flaring up in his voice. “Turn around!” And then softer. “Please...” 

Steve obliged and turned his back. He heard Bucky groan with the effort of removing the blanket from his abused body one-handedly, followed by the dull sound of fabric hitting the ground, then a sharp hiss, a whimper, and the sloching of water. 

“Can I turn around now?” Steve asked softly. 

“If you have to.” 

With Bucky’s permission, Steve turned on his heel and froze. His blue eyes widened in shock. The water Bucky sat in was colored in an alarming deep red like he was bleeding to death in there. His jaw was clenched in pain. Mere sitting was agony apparently...

Steve was going to say something, anything to make this better, when Bucky threw a rumpled piece of cloth in his direction, the remains of his undercoat. Steve caught it by reflex.

“I’m not dying. The serum’s gonna work soon,” Bucky said. “Now get rid of this.” 

Steve held the fine material of the ruined Shuka in his hands - torn, wet, and stained with blood and bodily fluids and stared at it in horror. 

“What?” Bucky asked, exasperated. “What is it?”

“Are you sure you don’t wanna press charges?” Steve asked again, for the forth or fifth time that day. He couldn’t tell. “It doesn’t have to be now.” 

“I’m sure.” 

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled audibly, swallowing his guilt. “Alright, fine but if you change your mind, there’s a bunch of witnesses who could testify—” 

Bucky’s clenched fist hit the water, splashing some of the red over the edge in rippling waves.

“No! Hell no! Will you give it a rest? They’re already traumatized! I’m not gonna put a bunch of kids through a rape trial! Jesus Christ!”

Steve closed his eyes until he could voice his next question more calmly. “Then what do you want to do?” he asked with as much understanding as he could muster. 

Bucky took some time to answer.

“I want to find them,” he said, blinking rapidly against the raging tears in his eyes. He wiped them away harshly, disregarding the splinters in the palm of his hand and traced the cut the shattered picture frame had left on his cheek. 

Resting the back of his head against the ceramic edge, a strange contrast of dark brown and white against the bloody water, Bucky looked to the ceiling as if he could see his tormentor’s faces there.

“I want to hunt them down and I want to kill them slowly, every single one of them, alright?” 

Steve nodded grimly, his expression dark but determined.

“Where do we start?