Distressed // Steve Rogers

25 - I've Got Them

His foot connected with thick wooden door with a deafening smack as it flew from its hinges, knocking one of Matthieu's men to the floor. Bucky stalked out of the darkness into the mass of bodies and began picking them off one by one. His body was on fire as he easily shifted through them, his grunts fuelling his rage.

He felt the air shift around him before his body registered the crack of gunfire and his left arm flew up, the metal glinting as the bullet ricocheted and lodged itself firmly in the thigh of the man who had pulled the trigger. He kicked out, his foot colliding with the chest of the next attacker, shattering ribs as his brute force sent the man hurtling into the wall. He channelled every ounce of anger he had - towards Zemo, towards Matthieu, towards himself - into the fight.

Zemo followed behind with a calm callousness that only served to add kindling to the burning flames of Bucky's fury.

"Are you gonna help, or just stand there?" Bucky spoke through gritted teeth as he pulled the rifle from one man's hands and butted it back into his skull, knocking him unconscious, rendering him useless.

"My help," Zemo purred, his hands placed securely behind his back as he waited calmly in the doorway that no man seemed able to get to, "will come when you have the girl James. Trust me, neither of us want it to come a moment sooner."

The slam of a fist into the side of Bucky's face sent him staggering, his head whipping round to face his attacker in the dim light of the shitty rundown townhouse they were occupying. Bucky felt the thick warmth of blood mingling with his spit and he became enraged. His attacker swung forwards again, only this time Bucky was prepared. As the man's fist flew towards him his left hand swung up, encasing the block of knuckles and strength in metal, crushing it as if it were nothing more than mouldable putty in his hands. The man cried out in agony as the crunching of his bones filled Bucky's ears. Despite Zemo's earlier assertions Bucky knew one thing for sure: he was not James Buchanan Barnes right now, he was The Winter Soldier. And The Winter Soldier always finished his mission.

*

She could hear him coming. Coming for her. Coming to take her away from here.

"Bucky!" She tried to scream as her fists limply pounded against the door, her energy all but gone. "Bucky get out! Please." Her cries turned to pitiful whimpers as she tried to steady herself. She tried to focus on the gruff sound of his voice as he shouted incoherently down the hallway. She could hear the fight as it unfolded around her, unable to tell who had the upper hand, her heart pounding under her ribs as she tried to picture a scenario in which the playful, moody, somewhat light version of Bucky Barnes she now knew could fight his way out of Matthieu's men's grasp. Sobs heaved in her chest when she realised he couldn't. Bucky would not win this.

The push of the door, swinging open against her, sent her stumbling back, her body too weak to hold her ground, her mind too weak to really try.

He loomed over her, the corner of his mouth twitching the way it did when he was in a blind stupor of rage and bitterness. She felt herself grow smaller with every step he took.

"Time for us to go Ma Chère." He wrapped his vicelike grip around her arm and pulled her towards him. "Let's go."

She struggled against him. It was pathetic. She knew it was. Her muscles ached from exhaustion and she was famished and parched. He had deliberately removed the basic necessities to break her, force her into submission, and now she couldn't hold herself up. Yet there she was, clawing at him, pushing him away with what little strength she had left as he dragged her kicking and screaming towards the door, one hand clamped firmly over her lips to silence her.