Distressed // Steve Rogers

2 - Agonising

"You shouldn't have come here." Bucky swirled the amber liquid in the rocks glass as he stared at the wall behind the bar.

"And you should have?" Steve laughed bitterly as he pulled up the stool next to Bucky and looked around.

The walls were covered in polaroids of people who frequented this grungy, downtown bar and the lights flickered above the dark corner booths and the pool tables that burly men leant upon as they leered at the women who carried knives within their boots. There was a red glow to the room and the heavy throb of rock music seemed to boom from the broken jukebox in the corner.

Steve turned back to the bar and nodded towards the bar tender. He was a tall man, muscular and covered in tattoos of barbed wire and scorpions and he made no effort to move as he stood wiping a glass clean. Steve pointed to Bucky's glass and held up two fingers. The man nodded and turned away.

"You're surrounded by Ex-Hydra and KGB in here Buck. When you told me not to do anything stupid tonight I should have realised you were taking all the stupid with you."

Bucky nodded, turning his eyes down to his full glass as another was placed before him.

"It's my fault Steve." His voice was low and hoarse, like he was swallowing his pain and coughing up razors. "I was being such an ass. I should have just spoken to you sooner and then she would never have taken that call." He looked to Steve's eyes. The clear, selfless understanding he saw only broke him more. "She wouldn't be dead."

Steve smiled sadly as Bucky's eyes filled with unshed agony. He watched as his childhood friend, his best friend, his brother, broke himself over and over with earth shattering guilt.

"But you don't really believe that Buck." He took a swig of his whiskey and bit back the burn.

"What the hell does that mean?" Rage contorted Bucky's face as he turned to look at Steve. His eyes were burning from nights of broken terrors that plagued his mind and ripped him from sleep. He was exhausted and angry and bitter and staring at Steve he felt the most heart wrenching pain. He hated himself for destroying Steve's happiness. "Of course I do. I know it's on me. Dammit Steve, you're miserable because of the choices I made."

"Buck, that's not what I meant." Steve sighed and turned on his stool so that he was leaning his back against the bar and he gestured to the crowd around him. "You're sat in a bar surrounded by ex-members of the KGB. The very same people whose agency ran the Red Room. The same Red Room that trained Talia." When he smiled it was genuine and hopeful. "You don't think she's dead either."

Bucky stared at him, unsure of what to say. He was right. Of course he was right. Something in Bucky told him not to stop listening for whispers of her, not to stop looking for her face in the shadows, and although he'd come up empty every time, he still looked. He still believed she was out there somewhere. But how does a man give his brother hope when there is a chance that the last shred of possibility may soon crumble around him and obliterate everything that once held him up?

"Bucky," Steve trembled as he spoke now, a soft urgency spilling into his voice as his eyes widened and his pleas painted themselves across his features. "I'm going to need your help."

Bucky downed his drink and flagged the bar tender down again.

"You think it's her, don't you?" He stared at the bottles lined up beneath a glowing red light. "The bodies piling up? You think it's Talia?

Steve turned again, leaning his elbows on the bar as he ran his hands over his face and closed his eyes.

"I don't know Buck. But we all know they wanted her. Zemo told her they wanted her. She knew what they wanted her to become, what they would turn her into." His next words were nothing more than a mangled cry. "Maybe they succeeded."