Sam narrowly avoided throwing up. He thumbed the switch on the fake face, damn the consequences, damn the spy shit; all he knew was that he couldn't exist for one more second in Brock Rumlow's skin. The miserable sack of shit on his knees in front of the bars looked over and his eyes bulged ludicrously. That was all the reaction he got before Sam, cool and deliberate but somehow almost watching himself from somewhere outside his body, unholstered his sidearm and shot the man between the eyes.
The silence rang louder than the gunshot.
Then Sam rushed over to Steve, ready to shoot the lock out of the cell door, ready to wreak whatever destruction he had to to get him free. But the door swung open under his hand, and there was the key to the restraints, clipped to one of the horizontal bars at head height. Jesus. He started fumbling the padlocks open, hoping to hell he could get Steve free before somebody sounded the alarm.
“Sam...?” said Steve unsteadily. “Oh no. Oh, God, no, Sam, not you too.”
Sam wrenched the first ankle cuff open and felt his stomach turn over. “Steve, man, it's okay, I'm not gonna hurt you. I'm here to get you out of here.”
A faint laugh from behind him as he kept wrestling with the locks. “...Right. Sam. Oh man. Listen, either things just got really weird, or I'm in some kind of shock. You can give me shit for it later, okay?”
“No, trust me, things are pretty weird.” There were the wrists free, and now it was just one ankle holding Steve to the bars. Sam's hand was shaking.
“Sorry to freak you out, I thought...” murmured Steve, mostly to himself. “I don't know what I thought. That they did something to your head. Were going to make you...”
The lock clicked open, and Steve was free. The first thing he did was draw himself up to a sitting position, leaning heavily back on his hands. Sam crouched down beside him. Steve glanced down at his own body, taking in the whole mess, and his lips twisted ruefully before he looked over at Sam. “Hey,” he said quietly.
“Hey, man,” said Sam, and tried to smile.
“You mentioned a rescue.”
“Yeah, let's get you out of here, looks like the hospitality stinks.” He slung one of Steve's arms around his shoulders and helped him carefully to his feet. Steve seemed pretty with it, considering... well, everything, but especially the fact that he'd just seen one of the apparent orchestrators of this travesty walk into the room, switch his face off, and turn into Sam. Sam was about to conclude that he was just disoriented, not out of his head with shock, when Steve grabbed him by the collar like he'd just remembered something incredibly important.
“Bucky,” he said, and Sam tried not to let his heart sink.
“Sorry. Not Bucky,” he said as he helped Steve out of the cell. “21st century, remember? Not the war. You're not in the war anymore. Now come on, let's...”
“No, the assassin. The Winter Soldier. It's Bucky. They've got him, and I have to...”
An alarm went off down the hall, and Sam swore and activated the little transponder that would signal their ride to come get them. “Dude, right now the best thing you can do for him is get the hell out of here and regroup. You know where your clothes are?”
“In pieces on the floor.”
Both of them looked at the dead man. Steve looked at Sam, wrinkling his nose. Sam looked at Steve and shrugged helplessly. “Sorry. I didn't bring extras.”
-
Backup got there just as things were starting to get exciting. There was a gunshot that didn't come from behind them, a scream and a thump as one of their pursuers went down, and then Natasha emerged from around the corner and shouted, “Catch!”
It was a pair of gas masks. Sam tossed one to Steve and awkwardly tried to pull his on as he ran; Steve took his arm off Sam's shoulder so he could get his on quicker, which halved their pace but probably spared them an even more unpleasant ending to the afternoon, because they didn't even have them fully on when the tear gas canisters started whizzing by.
They rounded the corner and ran into Maria Hill, who was pulling more gas canisters off her belt as Natasha provided covering fire. Sam couldn't see their faces under the masks, but he could've sworn that when Natasha glanced over at them her posture shifted slightly at the sight of Steve. He was in more-or-less clean clothes and they'd wiped the worst off him, but Natasha wasn't stupid, and putting herself in the hands of people who wanted to humiliate her was apparently one of her specialties. If she knew enough to manipulate them, she probably knew...
Enough not to comment on Steve's condition or the fact that he was staggering along with his arm around Sam's shoulders again. All she said was, “Here, present for you,” and she grabbed Steve's shield where it was leaning against the wall and tossed it to him.
A little bit of the slump went out of Steve's shoulders when he strapped it onto his arm. “That stuff lethal?” he asked Hill as they all started running down the corridor.
“Not unless you use more than we've got.”
“Use all of it.”
Hill was already turning to fire another canister behind them as they ran. “Steve, what the hell was going on in there?”
“Trust me,” Sam broke in during the long awkward pause, figuring Steve could use someone to run interference on this one, “you do not wanna know.”
FILL: Hydra/Steve sex pollen gangbang 11/?
The silence rang louder than the gunshot.
Then Sam rushed over to Steve, ready to shoot the lock out of the cell door, ready to wreak whatever destruction he had to to get him free. But the door swung open under his hand, and there was the key to the restraints, clipped to one of the horizontal bars at head height. Jesus. He started fumbling the padlocks open, hoping to hell he could get Steve free before somebody sounded the alarm.
“Sam...?” said Steve unsteadily. “Oh no. Oh, God, no, Sam, not you too.”
Sam wrenched the first ankle cuff open and felt his stomach turn over. “Steve, man, it's okay, I'm not gonna hurt you. I'm here to get you out of here.”
A faint laugh from behind him as he kept wrestling with the locks. “...Right. Sam. Oh man. Listen, either things just got really weird, or I'm in some kind of shock. You can give me shit for it later, okay?”
“No, trust me, things are pretty weird.” There were the wrists free, and now it was just one ankle holding Steve to the bars. Sam's hand was shaking.
“Sorry to freak you out, I thought...” murmured Steve, mostly to himself. “I don't know what I thought. That they did something to your head. Were going to make you...”
The lock clicked open, and Steve was free. The first thing he did was draw himself up to a sitting position, leaning heavily back on his hands. Sam crouched down beside him. Steve glanced down at his own body, taking in the whole mess, and his lips twisted ruefully before he looked over at Sam. “Hey,” he said quietly.
“Hey, man,” said Sam, and tried to smile.
“You mentioned a rescue.”
“Yeah, let's get you out of here, looks like the hospitality stinks.” He slung one of Steve's arms around his shoulders and helped him carefully to his feet. Steve seemed pretty with it, considering... well, everything, but especially the fact that he'd just seen one of the apparent orchestrators of this travesty walk into the room, switch his face off, and turn into Sam. Sam was about to conclude that he was just disoriented, not out of his head with shock, when Steve grabbed him by the collar like he'd just remembered something incredibly important.
“Bucky,” he said, and Sam tried not to let his heart sink.
“Sorry. Not Bucky,” he said as he helped Steve out of the cell. “21st century, remember? Not the war. You're not in the war anymore. Now come on, let's...”
“No, the assassin. The Winter Soldier. It's Bucky. They've got him, and I have to...”
An alarm went off down the hall, and Sam swore and activated the little transponder that would signal their ride to come get them. “Dude, right now the best thing you can do for him is get the hell out of here and regroup. You know where your clothes are?”
“In pieces on the floor.”
Both of them looked at the dead man. Steve looked at Sam, wrinkling his nose. Sam looked at Steve and shrugged helplessly. “Sorry. I didn't bring extras.”
-
Backup got there just as things were starting to get exciting. There was a gunshot that didn't come from behind them, a scream and a thump as one of their pursuers went down, and then Natasha emerged from around the corner and shouted, “Catch!”
It was a pair of gas masks. Sam tossed one to Steve and awkwardly tried to pull his on as he ran; Steve took his arm off Sam's shoulder so he could get his on quicker, which halved their pace but probably spared them an even more unpleasant ending to the afternoon, because they didn't even have them fully on when the tear gas canisters started whizzing by.
They rounded the corner and ran into Maria Hill, who was pulling more gas canisters off her belt as Natasha provided covering fire. Sam couldn't see their faces under the masks, but he could've sworn that when Natasha glanced over at them her posture shifted slightly at the sight of Steve. He was in more-or-less clean clothes and they'd wiped the worst off him, but Natasha wasn't stupid, and putting herself in the hands of people who wanted to humiliate her was apparently one of her specialties. If she knew enough to manipulate them, she probably knew...
Enough not to comment on Steve's condition or the fact that he was staggering along with his arm around Sam's shoulders again. All she said was, “Here, present for you,” and she grabbed Steve's shield where it was leaning against the wall and tossed it to him.
A little bit of the slump went out of Steve's shoulders when he strapped it onto his arm. “That stuff lethal?” he asked Hill as they all started running down the corridor.
“Not unless you use more than we've got.”
“Use all of it.”
Hill was already turning to fire another canister behind them as they ran. “Steve, what the hell was going on in there?”
“Trust me,” Sam broke in during the long awkward pause, figuring Steve could use someone to run interference on this one, “you do not wanna know.”