Summary: Did Bucky make it out alive?
Word Count: 1,708
Warnings: Angst, blood, and violence
Author’s Note: I want to thank everyone for coming on this journey with me. It’s been amazing and I can’t wait to get started on the follow up! @captain-rogers-beard & @climbthatmooselikeatree you are two amazing besties and I couldn’t do this without you. Thank you. GIF credit.
My work is not to be posted on any other sites (AO3, Wattpad, etc.) without my express written permission. Reblogs are fine.
Protecting Y/N had been Bucky’s job, his number one priority.
“Above all else, keep Y/N safe,” Steve had ordered. So how had Bucky not noticed the trip wire? If he had missed that, how many other things had he overlooked?
With his teeth grinding, he shoved the gun into his holster, ripped the phone from his pocket, and grabbed Y/N’s arm tight, hauling her down the stairs alongside him, probably hurting her, but he didn’t care. He would care later, when they were safe, when Y/N was safe.
The call connected two rings later. “I’m taking her to the backup location,” he grit out. “The place is rigged to blow.”
“Did Y/N go inside?” Steve demanded to know, his voice tight.
She was saying his name, begging him to slow down, but Bucky paid her no attention, shaking his head as he continued moving hurriedly down the stairs. “Negative, Steve. Y/N saw it before I did.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Steve roared, making Bucky pull the phone from his ear.
“Everything is fine, Steve,” Bucky promised. “We’re almost to the garage. As soon as we’re at the backup location, I’ll let you know.”
Without waiting for an answer, he handed the phone to Y/N, keeping himself focused on getting her out of there, keeping her safe. Level by level, they quickly descended to the parking garage. With the push of a button, lights flashed on the car that Bucky had unlocked, shoving her inside a moment later.
In their seats and both seat belts buckled, Y/N handed Bucky his phone. Less than a minute later the car was speeding out of the garage and onto the nearly-empty streets, Bucky expertly shifting through the gears of the expensive machine. He checked and double checked everything as he drove; watching for pedestrians and openings in the minimal traffic, shortcuts that he could take, making sure that no one was following the pair of them.
Despite what was happening, Bucky couldn’t help but notice the way Y/N’s hands had started to shake. With a huff of air out his nose, he covered her hands with one of his and gave them a squeeze.
“It’s going to be okay, Y/N,” he vowed. “We’re going to get that son of a bitch.”
“You keep saying that. What if -”
“No,” he interrupted, shaking his head, determination taking hold of him. “We will get him, and trust me, he’ll suffer.”
While Bucky focused on the road, Y/N had fallen asleep. He didn’t blame her, adrenaline can take quite a toll on the body. It also gave him a silent permission to not have his focus divided. That was when he noticed a car, sedan, dark, about a quarter mile back.
Son of a bitch.
The engine roared into overdrive when he stomped on the gas pedal. With one hand gripping the steering wheel and his eyes fixed on the rearview mirror, he called out for her, waking her up. He could see the fear radiating off of her as she registered the urgency in his voice. She whirled around in her seat just as the sedan started to change lanes.
“Lose him, Buck,” she begged.
“I’m tryin’, doll,” was his growl of an answer. His feet punched the pedals as he shifted once more, the speedometer flying well into triple digits, pulling away from the sedan slowly.
“Oh, thank God.”
By the time he realized what was happening, it was too late.
“Jesus,” Bucky hissed, his eyes going wide. “Hold on!”
Tires squealed against the asphalt as Bucky slammed on the brakes, turning at the waist to shield her as best as he could, his arms wrapping tight around her, doing his damndest to protect her from the car that was barrelling towards the luxury car.
Every inch of Bucky was in agony, but his legs, God, his legs, that was almost unbearable. It was the pain that woke him, pulled him from the pitch of unconsciousness. He didn’t know where he was or how long he had been there, and as much as part of himself wanted to panic, to cry out for help, he knew better. He just needed to keep his head long enough to find Y/N.
A gritty voice broke through the thick silence and, even though he knew that following the voice could lead him to something worse than two broken legs, he rolled over to his stomach. It was going to hurt like hell, but Bucky didn’t have a choice. He used his elbows to drag himself across the dirty concrete floor.
It felt like an eternity passed before he was close enough to decipher what was happening. When he saw Y/N, tied to a chair, bloodied and crying, the blood in his veins boiled.
“Straight to the point,” the man that had to be Brock laughed. “I like that about you, Steve. I’m sorry to disappoint you, but you don’t have anything that I want. Not anymore.”
The sharp slap of Brock’s hand on Y/N’s face echoed through the room, but her shriek cut through it, sending goosebumps down the back of Bucky’s neck.
A barking laugh left Brock, and it made Bucky’s stomach roll. “Fuck, you’re a smart one, ain’t ya? Alright, alright, you caught me. I want money, Steve, and a lot of it.”
Bucky searched around him for something, anything he could use as a weapon. The gun in his holster was gone, but not the blade he kept tucked to his belt.
“I’ll go away if you pay me to go away.”
He tried to catch Y/N’s eye, to let her know that she wasn’t alone, but she was crying too hard.
“God, you sound like you miss her or somethin’,” Brock laughed again.
Shit. There was nothing he could do but lay there and watch.
Brock sighed heavily into the phone. “Ten million, cash, in a suitcase, three hours. I’ll call you with a location.” The call was disconnected a moment later.
“Why, Brock?” she croaked, tears streaking through the dirt and blood on her face.
“You know the old cliche, doll,” he grinned salaciously. “If I can’t have you…” his gritty voice trailed off and he licked his lips hungrily.
“No,” Y/N argued, ripping her head from his grip. “I will never be with you.”
With a snarl, Brock tangled his hand in her hair and yanked you toward him, his lips brushing against hers when he said, “You’ve always been mine.” And then he was kissing her savagely, forcing his tongue into her mouth and moaning when she started struggling.
Bucky almost gave a triumphant shout when she bit his lip hard, drawing blood from it. He ripped away and swiped away the crimson drops with his thumb. “You’re gonna pay for that, you little bitch.” Brock slapped her again, much harder than the first time, drawing blood with the help of a ring he wore.
“Don’t… fucking… hurt her,” he managed to grind out pitifully, pulling himself further along the concrete.
Brock rolled his eyes as he whirled around. “What are you gonna do about it, Bucky?”
“I’m going to kick your ass,” he vowed, venom lacing his words.
“I’d love to see you try.” Brock strolled over, smirking as Bucky grabbed one of his ankles. He wrenched free from Bucky’s grip, using the momentum to kick Bucky in the face. The cartilage in his nose snapped at the impact, and he was unable to keep from falling into unconsciousness.
The next time he woke, it was because Brock was howling in pain. His eyes opened to see Brock with a gun under Y/N’s chin.
“Don’t fuckin’ move,” Brock sneered darkly.
“Easy, Brock.” It was Steve, trying desperately to diffuse the situation.
“Shut it, Rogers,” Brock ordered, the sound of the hammer cocking echoing loudly in the room.
Grunting in frustration, Bucky knew he had to do something. Despite the pain that surged through him, the blood that blurred his vision, he put everything he had into pulling himself closer to Brock, the blade between his teeth. It helped, biting down on the blade. It kept the pain at bay, just long enough to stab Brock behind his kneecap. With the last bit of strength he had, he yanked the blade free and glared at Brock as the man fell to the ground.
It was almost twelve weeks before Bucky was walking… limping around without his casts. Sure, he needed a cane and it took him almost twice as long to get anyplace, but he was alive. As was Y/N, thank God.
After multiple surgeries, weeks of recovery followed by physical therapy, Bucky was more than ready to get back to work. Even if it was something as mundane as watching the security feed. He prayed Steve wouldn’t do that to him.
Steve was waiting for him, front door of the newly-purchased home wide open, a cup of steaming coffee in his hands. “Hiya, Buck,” he greeted his friend, pulling him into a one-armed hug. “How ya doin’?”
Bucky chuckled, a genuine smile pulling at his lips for the first time in a long time. “Not bad.”
“You look good,” Steve said, standing to the side so Bucky could enter the house.
“I feel good.” Once inside, Bucky let out a low whistle. “Let me guess, Y/N did the decorating?”
“Why do you say that?”
Bucky looked at his friend with an arched brow. “Because if it had been you, it’d be shades of grey and blue, and technology everywhere. This,” he waved his hand at the warmly decorated interior, “is welcoming and rustic. It feels like a home.”
There was a screech of excitement coming from the next room. Y/N emerged a moment later and broke out into a wide smile as her eyes settled on the man that saved her life. “It’s so good to see you,” she sighed as she crossed the room and hugged Bucky tight.
“You, too,” he agreed, returning the hug with one arm, pressing a friendly kiss to her cheek. “Now, what’s a man gotta do to get a job around here?”
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