[a/n: poor Steeb, anyways, read the end of the chapter note. super important.]

The blade flew, a projectile as it went through the heads of a guard too, unfortunately for them, slow to move out of the way. The blond could fight much, much better without having to worry about Bucky dying-for any reason. He recovered the blade quickly, ignoring the wet, sucking sound as he pulled it out of the man's head.

In the corner of his eye, he glimpsed a view of Natasha hooking her leg around the neck of a doctor, shifting, so that she could better snap their neck. He had to admire the woman, at times. She was impossibly small, but she made up for it with her attitude. As well as her ability to kill a man with her thighs.

Steve swung at another guard, perhaps an agent, because they didn't have the exact same uniform. [a/n: get ready for this, hoes] Their short, dark hair fell loose, a mask covering the bottom half of their face.

The agent quickly caught his arm, tugging him forward so that their inches were inches apart. Steve stuck his knee out just in time, lodging itself in their stomach. Steve, having been fighting for what seemed like hours now, was panting, blue eyes stuck to the brown ones, which were narrowing.

"Who are you?"

It was a woman, words lightly accented in a way that was too painfully familiar. Steve cocked his head, trying to figure out where he had heard this person's voice before.

"Steve Rogers," he answered truthfully, tugging his arm away from her grasp. The agent didn't make a reach for it again, simply letting her arms hang at her sides. The woman stood, shifting on her feet, before she was just... Gone. One second she was there, the next, she wasn't. Steve stood there, confused, before resuming the onslaught. He was forced too, rather, because he heard someone fire a gun and he was not losing a team mate.

Steve flung the blade, watching it disarm a wiry, male guard who stepped back in shock. The weapon had a boomerang effect, but the man barely caught it. The blade cut his hand, but he knew it would heal not 10 minutes later. After months and months of using the red white and blue shield, he was still slowly learning to manage without the damned thing.

A loud, wordless shout turned him over to see Sam, who had been pinned beneath... Something. Steve immediately abandoned the fight, dashing over to his (very talkative, very dirty mouthed) friend.

"These fucking nazis can kiss my black ass," Sam cursed, amidst other vulgar words that he managed as Steve lifted the object with all his might. "I'd rather stick to killin' 'em, Sam," Steve grunted, discarding the thing to the side. It, fortunately, hit a doctor in the head. Accidental injury of the adversary was funny, as Bucky had complicatedly explained. Steve wasn't stupid, but damn, Hydra must've taught him something over all those years.

Sam shot someone behind him, leaving Steve to turn around and see an agent slump to the ground. The blond man turned to his friend, nodding. "Thanks," he breathed. Sam nodded back, surveying the wide room. "No problem, Cap," he said automatically. Steve winced slightly, but didn't say anything. He had dropped the mantle of Captain America, as well as his shield, months ago.

Everything stopped. Literally. The doctors and agents and guards abruptly retreated to places unknown, leaving the 4 stranded, bruised, and panting. They were scattered amongst the room, Natasha shooting someone in the back of the head as they retreated. They fell as soon as the bullet made contact.

"What the hell is this?" the redhead murmured, eyes flickering from corner to corner.

"I'm glad you asked, fraulëin."

Every head turned, to the voice that had come from the doorway at the end of the room. There stood a man in the frame; no hair, bald, Steve silently thought that his head was brighter than their future. The mystery man's face was sharp, angled too prominently as if a plastic surgery had gone wrong. Blue eyes moved from him, to whom was at his side. Steve knew that face anywhere, knew those blue eyes anywhere.

"Bucky?"

Bucky nodded as much as he could, body wrapped in chains and ropes. There was a metal cuff around his neck, barely visible. Steve choked back a sob, the knife clattering to the floor beside him A cloth covered the bottom half of his face, revealing the pained expression in his blue eyes. Blood covered his simple, gray clothes, as well as any exposed skin. His best friend's cheek was bruised purple, one of his eyes had a ring of darkness around it. Steve hesitated, breath hitched in his throat as he observed Bucky's beaten, bruised state.

"You know, they say you shouldn't leave your dog at home, Mr. Rogers. Although, I doubt they say it in fear of a bunch of... Nazis, as you call us, taking it," the man said calmly, slowly walking forward. Steve clenched his jaw, reaching up and slowly taking off his helmet. He held it tightly, hands invisibly shaking as Bucky shook his head wildly. The man only stared back sadly, knowing this was his own fault.

"I'm surprised you couldn't see this coming, Captain Rogers. If not you," the man turned to Natasha, who seemed to reel back like a snake getting ready to strike, "Then perhaps Ms. Romanova? No?"

"Let. Him. Go," Steve growled, the words said lowly but loud enough to be heard through out the room. The person feigned horror, providing an exaggerated face. Steve wasn't focused on him, though; he was focused on Bucky, who's blue eyes had become calm. Like the ocean, after a storm, simply peaceful and always beautiful. Steve knew that type of calm, that calm that only came when you realized that this was your end of the line, and there wasn't nothin' you could do about it.

Steve shouted, a thunderous sound as a gun appeared in the hand of the man who held Bucky tight. All he heard was a gunshot, before Steve shot up in his bed, reaching for a knife that wasn't yet there.

The Captain groaned, glancing at the clock on the corner. He had to tell someone, now, because this wasn't a dream, and if it was, shouldn't he go to the person that the dream was about? Steve decided that was a big, fat yes. Climbing out of his bed, ignoring the weakness in his legs, the man quietly walked from his room to the next.

Bucky lay, asleep, face contorted in some form of discomfort. His body, Steve knew he slept in his underwear and that was it, was tense. Like he was scared. Stepping softly, looking at all the papers strewn about the floor, he sat on the edge of Bucky's bed - but before he could speak, there was a gun aimed at his head. Steve knew the drill. Before Bucky could register what was happening, the Captain had the gun pointed back at him.

"Oh, Steve, it's you. What's wrong?"

"We need to talk."

A/N;
Just because I am a WIMP (as we all know) I might not do the smut I hoped to do??? Idk, man, I don't want to get you guys all hyped only for it to suck dick

If you didn't catch what happened, Hydra invaded their house while they were gone, taking Bucky when they saw he wasn't w the others.