Archive of Our Own ^beta

Tony wakes up to a splitting headache, a hard floor and a set of metal cuffs on his wrists.

Oh…kay, he thinks as he squints and tries to get used to the darkness of the room around him. Unless I did something wild last night, this is not where I want to be.

His eyes adjust slowly so that he can start to make out the room around him. He shifts and becomes aware of a second set of shackles on his ankles with a length of chain leading to the wall beside him. He stares at it in bleary concern, before a groan fills the room and his eyes snap to the left, where, leaning against the other wall he can just make out—

“Rogers?” he whispers, his voice sounding hoarse and too loud in the barren room.

Steve doesn’t respond, his head staying slumped forward on his chest, and Tony’s eyes travel down to where he can see a pair of cuffs and chains on both the super soldier’s hands and feet.

Okay.

Not good.

Yeah, definitely not good.

He shifts forward a little, wincing as the movement aggravates the pain in his head, and tries to scoot his way closer to his fellow Avenger. “Cap,” he hisses. “Cap, wake up.”

It’s awkward, trying to hobble forward with cuffs on his hands, and the chain connecting his ankles to the wall is too short for him to reach his prone teammate. He huffs in frustration and inches his way back, frantically wracking his brain as he tries to remember what had lead up to this point.

He and Steve had been at some sort of gala in… somewhere, not the States. He… he can remember Steve looking vaguely uncomfortable in his Captain America suit while shaking hands with various dignitaries, and… and he remembers the champagne. Yes, the champagne had been so-so, and he remembers saying so to Steve as they’d left for the night and then—

He winces as he leans back against the wall and brings his cuffed hands up to feel the back of his head. His fingers come away tacky, and he doesn’t need any light to guess what colour they’ll be.

Okay.

Okay.

Stay calm and think.

His hands automatically go to where his arc reactor used to be before he remembers that he’d gotten it removed. Instead his fingers brush against the fabric of his tailored suit. (He remembers, Steve had complained that Tony had gotten to wear a normal suit instead of his Iron Man one for the gala, and he’d replied that ties were probably more uncomfortable than anything else Steve had ever worn).

His hands goes to his neck. His tie is gone.

Well.

His hands continue their inspection and he discovers that every single button on his suit and his cufflinks are gone. His shoelaces are missing too. Okay. His brain still feels fuzzy and a pulsing pain settles at the base of his skull, but he tries to concentrate.

So, attacked and imprisoned by somebody who is strong enough to take down Captain America.

His eyes travel to his unconscious companion and they narrow as he thinks. Cap should have healed by now. He heals faster than anyone, so in order to still be out of it, whoever had taken them must have something else up their sleeve. Okay, taken by kidnappers.

Methodical kidnappers, he thinks, fingering his buttonless shirt. They don’t seem to be taking any chances.

That, of course, leaves the question of why.

His stomach flips and he breathes in carefully, blinking away dusty scenes from Afghanistan. His hands slide down the fabric of his pants and tighten into fists as he sucks in another tight breath.

Focus, he thinks sharply and grits his teeth. We got out of it last time. We can do it again.

His eyes dart to Steve’s slumped form.

And this time we’ll do it with everyone onboard.

From what he can tell, the walls and floor of the room are concrete, and as such, are not only uncomfortable, but cold. Especially when one is missing all of one’s buttons. His fingertips are just starting to reach polar bear territory when an overhead light switches on without warning. Light floods the room and the buzz of fluorescent lightbulbs assaults his ears as he winces, squeezing his eyes shut and ducking his head into his arms as his headache kicks up a notch.

Steve groans and shies away as well, his eyes blinking blearily as he glances around in confusion, his hands twitching jerkily in his cuffs.

“Hey Cap,” Tony croaks, squinting at him from under his arms. “Decided to finally come ‘round huh?” Internally he’s a little relieved. He’s pretty sure he’s read somewhere that staying unconscious for a really long time is bad. Or maybe that’s just common sense, who knows.

Steve stares blankly at him, his eyes darting around the room before his hands jerk in the cuffs again, the chain connecting them to the wall rattling as he moves.

Tony is busy quietly wondering why their captors hadn’t bothered to give him two sets of chains (he studiously ignores the part of his brain that is certain that they’d left his hands relatively free so that he could build them something) when the door on the far side of the room swings open with an ear-splitting, headache-amplifying, screech.

It’s a big metal door, the kind Tony would expect to see in a nuclear bomb shelter or something, and three men dressed in black tactical gear step through, their hands placed threateningly on the rifles hanging across their chests. The lead one pauses to sweep the room with his eyes before nodding and stepping aside.

Out from behind him walks two people, a thinner man, dressed in a white lab coat and glasses, and a grey-haired woman, also wearing a lab coat, her hair pulled up into a tight bun on top of her head. They both stop just in front of the guards and the man places his hands inside his lab coat pockets, his eyes scanning the two of them with a calculating look.

“Good morning,” he says, directing his words towards Steve. “My name is Doctor Johnson, and this is Doctor Minati.” He gestures to the woman.

“Ri-ight,” Tony cuts in caustically. “Thanks for the introduction.” The coldness in his bones and the pain in his head aren’t doing much for his temper. “Can we get to the part of why we’re here?”

Doctor Johnson gives him a long unimpressed look before turning back to Steve. Tony turns to look as well and can now see the burnt-red colour of blood discolouring the hair near the back of his head. Steve… actually isn’t looking so good. His face is pale, and his breathing visibly laboured, his hands twitching against his cuffs every so often as he stares at the two doctors.

Tony’s brow furls, but his attention is soon pulled back to the male doctor. “I will explain to you the rules,” he says stiffly, and Steve twitches. “You hold, inside you, the secret to the super soldier serum,” he continues and beside him, the woman shifts and folds her arms. “Now, I think you will agree that it’s unfair to hoard such a secret to yourself,” he says, rolling back on the balls of his feet, his hands flexing in his pockets. “So, we’ve taken it upon ourselves to figure out what we can from you.”

Steve stares at them, completely frozen, barely breathing, and Tony’s eyes dart back and forth between the two. He hadn’t considered the possibility that their captors would be after Steve, he’d been thinking terrorist organisations and missiles, not…this.

Doctor Johnson rolls his neck as if relieving tension in his shoulders before shrugging in Tony’s direction. “He’s insurance,” he says, a bite entering into his voice. “You fight back or try to escape and—” He gestures to one of the guards and the man pulls a rod from a holster on his leg. With a flick of his wrist, the rod crackles to life and Tony feels a shiver run down his spine as he watches a line of electricity dance up and down the baton.

Johnson turns back and smiles, all teeth, at Steve. “Of course, it won’t come to that, will it, Captain?”

Tony turns back to Steve as well, and he’s actually starting to get a little concerned. The Captain has yet to speak at all, sitting almost catatonically instead, his eyes wide and fixated on the baton, his breathing shallow.

Johnson takes Steve’s silence as a yes and he smiles, rubbing his hands together. “Let’s get started then,” he says, and the woman beside him offers him her own sly grin.

The doctors leave the room for a moment and Steve’s hands jerk on his cuffs again. The movement doesn’t have enough force behind it to be an escape attempt, instead it seems more like his body reminding itself that he’s still trapped.

The guards blocking the door narrow their eyes at his actions but don’t respond, which is appreciated, and soon the scientists are back, dragging with them a rattly cart on wheels, piled high with medical supplies. Steve shivers as they enter and seems to try and press himself further back into the wall behind him, his breathing tight and ragged as the two doctors start pulling on gloves.

“S-Steven.” Everyone collectively turns to look at him as he stutters out his first word since arriving. He doesn’t seem to notice though, his cuffed hands pulling into his chest as he hunches into the wall and stares ahead of himself. “Steven Rogers,” he gets out between breaths. “Captain.” Breath. “Four, six, two.” Breath. “Three, six, two.”

Tony blinks owlishly at him, his headache momentarily forgotten as he tries to compute what he’s hearing. Why…? What…?

The doctors seem to collectively decide that Steve’s behaviour isn’t worth noting, and they drag the cart closer to him.

Steve’s breath stutters as the woman crouches stiffly next to him. “Give me your arm,” she orders, holding out her hand while Doctor Johnson readies a pair of scissors. Steve stares at her blankly and he shivers, almost like a full body flinch, when she grows impatient and snatches his arms towards her.

Steve’s breaths are audible and verging on frantic as the woman accepts the proffered scissors and begins cutting up the sleeve of his uniform. His hands jerk compulsively, and her eyes narrow as her grip tightens on his wrist.

Near the door, one of the guards shifts and edges closer to Tony, his hand hovering over the electric rod on his thigh. Tony’s eyes dart back and forth between the guard and Steve and he swallows nervously. He’d much prefer not to get shocked today, thank you very much.

From the look in Steve’s eyes, he’s not quite sure the man is actually seeing the guard, or the threat of the baton, but he stills anyway, his hands shaking as the woman finishes cutting away his sleeve up to the shoulder.

Okay. Something is very wrong, Tony decides, eyeing the rapid movement of Steve’s chest as Doctor Minati accepts a tourniquet and syringe from Doctor Johnson. He’s never seen Steve act like this, ever.

Steve sucks in a sharp breath as Doctor Minati starts taking his blood, and his head jerks forward, but his arms remain completely still. “Steven Rogers. Captain,” he repeats tightly, his eyes staring blankly ahead. “Four, six, two. Three, six, two.”

Doctor Minati flicks her eyes to him before she withdraws her needle and presses a pad of gauze to his elbow, turning to the other doctor. “Do we want to see how fast he heals from this or should we bandage it?” She asks, and something twists in Tony’s stomach at the dry clinical nature of her words.

Doctor Johnson hums for a moment before handing her a length of gauze. “Bandage it first,” he says. “We can compare how fast he heals without extra help later on.”

Doctor Minati nods and turns to expertly wrap Steve’s arm. “Leave this alone,” she warns him with a glare once she’s finished. “Or your friend here will regret it.”

Tony isn’t really sure Steve hears her, the man continuing to sit frozen, his cuffed hands resting straight out on the tops of his knees as the doctors pack up and head out. The guards back out last, the door closing behind them with a definite thud.

Steve’s hands jerk on his cuffs again and his breath catches. “Steven Rogers, Captain,” he says again. “Four, six, two, three, six, two.” He takes a breath and then repeats himself. Then another breath. Another repetition.

“Rogers?” Tony tries, edging as close to him as his chain will allow. “Steve, can you hear me?”

Steve’s hands jerk in the chains and he repeats his name, rank and number again.

Okay.

Okay.

Tony takes in a breath. “Okay, listen Rogers. I don’t know what’s up with you, but we’re going to get out of here, I promise.” He shifts a little closer, the chain digging into his ankle. “Remember my Iron Man suit?” He says, hoping that some part of Steve can still hear him. “I’ve got homing beacons for it implanted in me.” He swallows, his eyes flicking over Steve. “That means we’ve got a ticket out of here. As soon as the Avengers figure out we’re gone and track that signal, they’ll be here and we’ll be out in no time.”

Ideally, he would just call the suit to him, but there’s no convenient windows in the cell for it to break in through, so he’d really just be sending the pieces of his suit to clatter uselessly against the side of the building, and potentially alert their captors to his little secret.

JARVIS can still track the implants though, so he knows they’ll be found. Probably soon too. A few days, maximum. Looking back at Steve, and hearing him mumble his name and number again, Tony isn’t sure that that will be fast enough.

oOo

It’s hard to tell time in the cell, but Tony had gotten good at estimating that sort of thing during his stint in Afghanistan, so he’s pretty sure it’s only been a few hours before the scientists return again.

By then, Steve’s litany of name, rank, and number had been repeated to the point where even Tony could recite it off by heart. Steve doesn’t respond to anything he says, and his spiel cuts off only when his breathing gets ragged again, which seems to happen at varying intervals. As soon as his breathing slows down though, he’s back at it. Repeating himself over and over and over again.

Tony is almost glad for the interruption.

Except, not really, because the scientists come in fully prepared with their cart for another round of tests.

The guards congregate at the door again, and Tony bites his tongue as he watches the scientists talk over Steve like he isn’t really a person to them, more of a subject to study. Steve remains still, in an almost petrified, doll-like state, as the doctors do everything from measuring his fingers to taking samples of his hair, and it’s not until Doctor Minati tries to force his mouth open for a saliva sample that they start having problems.

Steve’s breathing goes from 0 to 100 in about two seconds and he jerks his head out of her grasp, his chains rattling as he pulls away. “S-Steven Rogers. Captain,” he stutters out painfully and Tony’s stomach twists. “Steven Rogers. Captain. Four six two. Three, six, two.”

Minati starts to grab his head again and he flinches away, breathing through his teeth as his hands jerk in his cuffs and his eyes dart around in fear. One of the guards, Tony dubs him ‘Henchman One’, steps closer to Tony and fingers the holstered baton, his eyes on the scene in front of him.

The woman’s face twists in displeasure and she motions for one of the other guards to come closer. “Hold him,” she snaps, stepping back so that he can move in and pin Steve’s head to the wall behind him.

Tony opens his mouth to protest, but Henchman One gives him a look and he sits back reluctantly, his heart pounding in his chest (for half-a-second, he’s back in the cave, Yinsen being held down, a glowing red coal inches from his face, shouting words he can’t understand.)

He blinks and in front of him, the combined efforts of Doctor Johnson and the guard manages to pry open Steve’s mouth, leaving him panting harshly and shaking in fear as Doctor Minati peers into his mouth, her cotton swab ready.

“He’s missing a tooth,” she observes as she swabs his mouth, stepping back after a moment and placing the oversized Q-tip into a plastic tube.

Tony’s brow furls along with Doctor Johnson’s as Steve is released, the Captain mumbling his name and number so fast and low it’s more of a hum than actual words, curling in on himself while the guard and doctors step away.

“Which one?” Doctor Johnson asks, the two scientists turning to bend over their clipboard of results and Tony breathes in slowly, his eyes on Steve’s shuddering form.

Steve had never mentioned a missing tooth before. Granted, that probably isn’t something people just casually mention, but it still feels weird that Tony had never heard about it until now. Had he lost it before the serum? Or some time after? Either way, he decides, swallowing uneasily, it’s probably a back one, since he’s never noticed anything until now.

Once the scientists are finished collecting their data, they leave again, and Tony is left with a Captain that seems to be even more catatonic than before.

“Steve, Steve, hey,” he speaks up, rubbing his hands together to ward off the chill of the cell and hoping to distract the Captain from his number repetition. “We’re going to be okay,” he says, because he knows, he knows the Avengers are coming. They just have to hold out till then.

He leans forward, blowing on his hands. “I bet you Barnes is about losing his mind right now,” he says, thinking back to the towers’ second resident super soldier. Bucky had been adopted into the tower about a year ago now, after it had turned out that he was still alive, and that, you know, SHIELD was actually Hydra.

It had taken some time for Bucky to… settle in, (and he and Tony had had to have a long, important conversation about car crashes and Hydra) but his presence in the tower had had a noticeable impact on Steve’s mood, and everyone collectively agreed that they were basically inseparable.

Even so, the mention of Bucky’s name doesn’t seem to be enough to catch Steve’s attention, and he sinks into himself, his hands jerking on his cuffs.

“Steven Rogers. Captain,” he recites thinly and Tony closes his eyes. “Four, six, two, three, six, two.”

oOo

A while later, the door opens again and the guards file in, one of them holding two paper plates piled with sandwiches and another holding two water bottles. Tony eyes them warily but they do nothing but set the plates and bottles down next to each of them, careful to place them close enough to be reachable with the chains and cuffs.

Tony’s headache, which is thankfully mostly gone by now, had kept him from realising how hungry he actually was, but now, the introduction of the sandwiches makes his mouth water.

“Hey wait,” he calls after the guards, his brow furling as he scans Steve’s allotment of food. They’d each been given the same amount. “He’s gonna need more than this you know,” he insists to the guards’ impassive faces. “His metabolism is too fast for just this.”

He knows that he’s technically giving away information to the enemy right now, but he’s seen the amount of food it takes to keep Steve’s super soldier body running, and those meager sandwiches aren’t going to last long.

The guards look at him for a moment, and then share a glance between themselves, before stepping back out of the room and pulling the door closed behind them.

“Fine. Whatever,” he mumbles grumpily, shifting forward towards the food, his backside taking the chance to let him know how uncomfortable it is to sit on a hard floor all day. He doesn’t bother refusing the food, knowing that refusing to eat because it might be drugged would lead to definitely being too weak to fight back later.

Steve doesn’t seem to have gotten the memo though, because he doesn’t make any move to reach for his food. Tony’s not even sure he realises it’s there. The Captain’s eyes remain blankly fixed on the wall in front of him, his body rocking slightly as he continuously mouths his name and number.

Tony takes a bite of his sandwich, (dry bread and limp lettuce, yay!), before swallowing and turning back to his friend. “Rogers?” He hedges quietly, schooching a little closer. “You gotta eat buddy, or, at least drink some water.”

Steve’s breath stutters and his head jerks sharply, but other than that he doesn’t respond.

Tony’s stomach clenches slightly in fear and he privately hopes that the Avengers hurry up and find them. If he could just reach Rogers, then maybe he could get him to eat, or at least notice his surroundings, but thanks to the chain around his ankles, that’s not an option.

Steve’s chanting rises from inaudible to a low hum again, accompanied by twitches as his breath catches between repetitions and Tony finds it rather difficult to choke down the rest of his sandwich.

oOo

The door gets shoved open again, with its familiar screech of heavy metal, and the three guards march in, followed shortly by the two scientists. The two of them scan the room quickly before, as one, their faces twist sharply into a scowl.

“Why isn’t he eating?” Doctor Johnson snaps, marching forward to grasp Steve’s chin in his hand and tilt his head side to side. Steve’s eyes go wide and he flinches back, his litany cutting off abruptly as he presses his lips together determinedly, breathing in rapidly through his nose.

Doctor Johnson looks down at the untouched plate of food and jerks Steve’s head to look down as well. “You will eat,” he grinds out, pushing the plate closer to Steve with his foot. Steve doesn’t really seem to hear him, his eyes still disturbingly blank as he trembles next to the wall.

Doctor Johnson’s lips thin at Steve’s lack of response and he steps back, his eyes narrow. “Maybe you need some motivation,” he snarls, spinning around to look at Tony.

Tony’s stomach drops as Henchman One steps closer to him, his hand reaching down to pull out his shock rod. “Okay, just wait a minute,” he says, inching away and raising his cuffed hands.

Doctor Johnson sneers at him before turning back to Steve. “Start eating now,” he orders. “Or we will shock him.” Steve's shaking is more pronounced now, and his rocking stronger as his hands jerk listlessly against his cuffs.

“Okay, look, I don’t think he’s really hearing you—” Tony’s words get cut off with a pained yelp as Henchman One shoves the activated rod into his shoulder and every muscle in his body contracts at once. A second later and it’s over, and he sucks in a breath, gritting his teeth against the tingly aftershocks that cause his hands to shake.

Okay. Not fun.

Steve seems to jerk along with him, as if he were the one getting shocked, and his breathing accelerates rapidly. “Steven Rogers,” he mumbles. “Steven, Steven Rogers.” His hands jerk and he cringes away into the wall. “Steven Rogers. C-captain. S-Steven, Rogers. Captain. Four… four, six, two.”

“What’s wrong with him?” Doctor Minati snaps, her hands folded across her chest and a look of irritation on her face.

Doctor Johnson steps back, a look verging on disgust passing over his face. “We’ll have to figure out another way to feed him,” he says to her. “For now we can document how long he can go without.”

He sends Steve one last parting scowl, seemingly annoyed at how inconvenient of a patient he’s being, before the guards take the plates and bottles and sweep out of the room with the two scientists.

Tony breathes out slowly.

Steve’s hands twist in the cuffs (and, it must hurt right? Rubbing his hands against the cuffs all the time like he does?) “St’vn R’gers,” he whispers, curling in on himself. “Cap—C’ptn. Fo’r, six, t’o, thr’, s’x, t’o.”

oOo

Night falls, or Tony assumes it does, since the light in the cell abruptly shuts off and plunges the room into darkness again. But just because it’s dark, doesn’t exactly mean that it’s easy to sleep, and the land of dreams seems particularly far tonight. The chains and the floor are cold, not to mention uncomfortable, and Steve seems to make it a personal goal not to fall asleep at all.

He manages to nod off every once and a while, his stream of mumbled words trailing off for a moment, before, ten minutes later, he jerks awake again, his breathing frantic and his name and rank tumbling out of his mouth at top speed.

This cycle repeats over and over until Tony is about ready to tear his hair out in frustration. Nothing he says seems to touch Rogers, and the constant stream of repetition is enough to drive him up the wall.

Eventually though, Rogers does seem to slip into a deeper sleep. His body slumping exhaustedly against the wall as his breathing deepens. Tony breathes out a sigh of relief and closes his eyes as well, his brain feeling completely drained as he drifts off.

It’s impossible to tell how long it’s been, but some time later, he jerks awake again, terrified and blind in the dark room. For a second he thinks it’s one of his nightmares again, before a tortured scream, similar to the one that had first shocked him into wakefulness, cuts through the stillness.

His head jerks to the side and he can just make out Steve, the super soldier curled up on the floor, his arms above his head, as he lets loose another ear-piercing shriek.

Tony tries to instinctively cover his ears but thanks to the cuffs he can only reach one ear at a time. “Rogers!” he snaps, wincing at the terrified panting that intercuts the bloodcurdling screeches. Steve’s screams cut off for a second as he coughs before restarting again, stuttering as they jump to a higher pitch, his chains rattling as he convulses sharply.

“Steve.” Tony tries to pull himself closer, even though by now he knows it’s pointless. “Steve, come on, wake up.”

Steve’s latest painful howl cuts off, and the sounds of his broken gasps fill the room instead. His chains rattle together, and Tony realises abruptly that he must be shaking like a leaf over there.

After a moment, he manages to gasp out between pants. “S-Steve. S-Ste—Steven. Rogers.” Bile rises in Tony’s throat and Steve coughs. “Steven. R-Rogers,” he breathes, his voice shaking painfully. “Captain. Captain. Steven Rogers, Captain. Four. Six. Two.” He bites out each individual number deliberately and his shaking seems to lessen as he breathes. “Three. Six. Two.”

oOo

By the time the light flicks on in the morning, Tony is exhausted, cold, worried out of his mind for his teammate, and done up to here with being kidnapped by creepy science organisations. Steve hasn’t really changed much since yesterday, except for the fact that he’s laying on his side now, his face pale as he stares blankly at nothing.

His chanting is, at least, generally a low mumble, unless he jerks suddenly and starts freaking out. On those occasions, he usually repeats himself out loud for a while before he calms down enough to relax and lower his volume.

Tony finds his own ways to keep calm. Which generally consists of talking.

Steve doesn’t respond to anything he says anyways, so Tony is free to ramble about anything his heart desires, his voice filtering over Steve’s quiet litany until he’s sure their cell sounds like a ward in the insane asylum.

His throat is starting to get dry and he’s beginning to wonder when Thing One and Thing Two will show up for the day, when something cuts off his current thread of ‘conversation’. It’s just barely audible, but he swears he hears… Yes! There it was again. Tony’s face splits into a grin as the muffled sounds of an explosion reaches him.

“They found us Cap,” he says, flexing his fingers in his cuffs, a bubble of hope exploding in his chest. “We’re almost outta here, just a little longer.”

The sound of fighting grows gradually closer, although Steve doesn’t really seem to notice, and Tony finds his heart leaping every time an explosion gets particularly close. At last, the familiar sound of screeching metal is heard and the door to their cell is laboriously pushed open.

Barnes pokes his head around the side, his face probably the most welcome thing Tony has ever seen, and his eyes narrow as he sweeps the room. “I found them,” he says shortly into his earpiece, before his eyes catch on Steve and something complicated happens in their depths.

He gives Tony a quick once over, as if to make sure he’s not dangerously injured or anything, before stepping fully into the room, his eyes completely focused on Steve. He approaches Steve’s hunched form slowly, and Tony watches in fascination as Bucky sinks down and looks over his friend in concern.

“Steve. Stevie, hey,” he says gently, his hand reaching slowly to touch Steve’s shoulder. Steve jerks and flinches away from the touch, his breathing accelerating before he seems to freeze, his eyes pinned onto Barnes.

“B-Bucky,” he gasps out, beginning to shake more than before. “Bucky—” His voice catches and he breathes in a little hysterically.

For his part, Tony is just relieved to hear something other than a string of numbers falling from Steve’s lips, and the fact that he’d recognised something from his surroundings is encouraging as well.

Bucky runs a careful hand through Steve’s hair. “You’re okay Steve,” he says, before directing his voice to his comm. “Nat, I’m going to need something to cut cuffs with.”

Said cuffs and chains rattles as Steve’s eyes widen and he lurches up, grabbing onto Bucky’s uniform. “We hafta—” His own frantic breathing cuts him off. “We hafta… hafta destroy th’ results. Hafta destroy the results.” His hands shake as he seems to sink into himself, his eyes glazing slightly before his mouth starts moving sluggishly and he begins to mouth his name and number again.

“Hey, hey Steve,” Bucky leans forward, placing both his hands on either side of the Captain’s face. “We will, ya hear? Tasha’s gonna blow this place once we’re gone, we’ll destroy it all okay?”

Steve shivers, his hands not letting up on their grip on Bucky’s uniform. “Hafta… hafta destroy…” His head seems to dip forward in exhaustion for a second before he squeezes his eyes shut in concentration. “Steve. Steven Rogers,” he mumbles determinedly.

A look of pain flashes across Bucky’s face before a noise at the door catches both his and Tony’s attention and they turn to find Natasha standing there, an avenging angel in the doorway, her eyes sharp and analytical as she takes in the scene.

With one quick move she tosses Bucky a thin pen-like device before heading over to Tony, an identical device in her hands. “You holding up okay?” she asks lowly as she activates the small laser and starts working on freeing him from his bonds.

He nods quietly, wincing as the cuffs brush against the raw skin of his wrists, before glancing back over to Bucky and Steve.

Bucky makes quick work of the cuffs and pockets the laser, before pulling away slightly. “Can you stand Steve?” He asks quietly, grasping onto his friend’s elbows and levering him off the floor. Steve sways and gasps sharply as he stands, his hands scrambling to hold onto Bucky, his eyes distant again as the loose ends of his cut sleeve flap around him.

Bucky holds his weight easily, glancing over at Natasha to make sure she’s taking care of Tony, before beginning to guide Rogers towards the door.

Steve shudders as he walks and his hands tighten on Bucky’s uniform, his voice growing more urgent. “Hafta. Hafta. Destroy the results,” he says again, his breathing tight.

“We will Steve, we will.” Tony hears Bucky reply patiently as Natasha helps him off the floor. He finds himself a little dizzy as well, his legs practically numb after their stint on the cold concrete.

Natasha shadows him as they begin to make their way towards the hall and she raises an eyebrow at the lack of buttons on his suit, his shirt flapping open as he moves. A small, distant part of him wishes that his scars weren’t quite so prominently on display, but the rest of him is cold and tired, and would walk out of here naked if that’s what it took.

They make their way laboriously but as quickly as possible down the hall, following Bucky as he leads them confidently out of the building. From his position hanging off of Bucky’s shoulder, Steve alternates between insisting they ‘destroy the results’ and stuttering out his name and rank over and over, and Natasha is starting to get the same worried look as Tony by the time they make it outside, the quinjet open and inviting.

Once they arrive Bucky doesn’t bother trying to detach himself long enough to lay Steve down on one of the seats or emergency beds in the ship. Instead he stops just long enough to grab one of the ship’s shock blankets and wraps it around both of them as he sits down, Steve curled up in the seat beside him with his head in his lap.

Natasha settles Tony rather firmly in his own seat, a blanket magically appearing around his shoulders as she radios the rest of the team to come in.

“Make sure there’s nothing left of this place, Nat,” Bucky says lowly, his hand brushing over Steve’s hair as the Captain breathes quietly and shudders under the blankets.

Natasha nods solemnly and Tony settles back tiredly as the rest of the Avengers begin to trickle back into the quinjet. Clint arrives sporting a new bruise under his eye and smelling distinctively of smoke, and he and Natasha make their way to the cockpit as a tired looking Bruce and a concerned looking Sam duck into the plane.

Steve is becoming agitated again, his hands jerking in the blankets so that he can cling to Bucky’s uniform. “Hafta, destroy—” He drags in a breath.

“I know Steve,” Bucky cuts in quietly, ducking his head to look at him and wrapping a hand around his shoulder. “This place is gonna blow as soon as we lift off.”

Bruce walks over and cracks open an emergency water bottle, draining it tiredly and widening his stance to keep his balance as the aircraft closes its door and starts lifting off. Once finished, he wipes his mouth and pulls on his doctor-face, going over to crouch by Tony.

“Are you hurt?” He asks quietly, pulling a first-aid kit closer to him and Tony wordlessly lifts up his chafed wrists.

“What happened to him?” Sam asks hollowly at the same time, his eyes pinned on Steve’s hunched form.

Tony suddenly finds all eyes on him and he coughs. “Look, I donno,” he says tiredly as Bruce tilts his hands gently. “He’s been out of it since we woke up. He’s barely said anything except for repeating his blasted name, rank and number over and over again.”

“What did they want?” Bucky asks quietly, his eyes intent.

Tony sucks in a breath as Bruce begins disinfecting his wrists and grimaces. “I think they were tryna study his serum,” he says as Bruce grabs some bandages to start wrapping his wrists. “They didn’t get far though, they ran a few tests and took some samples and that’s about it.”

Bucky curses, his eyes darting to Steve’s arm and the bandage left over from the blood test. His hand fingers the wound on the back of his head before looking back up at Tony. “Where did this come from?” he asks intensely. “Did they hurt him?”

Bruce steps away and Tony shrugs as he accepts a water bottle from Sam. “That was there when I woke up,” he says. “I think it’s from when we got nabbed.” He pauses for a second to swallow greedily at the water. “I don’t think they hurt him much,” he says, wiping his mouth. “But he didn’t eat anything while we were there.”

Sam’s brow furls in concern and he stands up to grab a water bottle and a handful of granola bars for Steve. “Did they feed you?” He asks, handing one of the bars to Tony as he passes.

Tony nods and breaks into the snack eagerly. “Yup,” he says around his mouthful, ducking his head so that Bruce can look at his head wound. “But he didn’t really seem to see it, he was,” he gestures at Steve’s prone form, “like that pretty much the whole time.”

Both Bruce and Sam wear the same look of concern and neither seem to notice as Bucky casually intercepts Sam before he can get too close to Steve with the food.

“What happened to him?” Tony’s head jerks up and he sees Natasha standing in the doorway of the cockpit, her arms folded over her chest and a sharp look in her eyes. Clint pops up behind her, the plane presumably now on autopilot, and across from him, and Bucky sighs, shuffling a little so that Steve is balanced better in his lap.

“I think I know,” he says tiredly. “It’s a long story though.”

Natasha and Clint drift into the room and soon they’re all seated, their eyes focused on Bucky while he fiddles with Steve’s blanket. Steve himself seems to have finally fallen unconscious from exhaustion, but, considering their previous night, Tony doubts that it will last long.

Bucky swallows and presses his lips together before looking up and finally addressing the elephant in the room. “So—” He presses his lips together and looks over at Tony. “You said he repeated his name and number while you were captured?”

Tony nods and Bucky clenches his teeth. “That,” he grimaces and looks away, “was something we were taught to do when captured,” he says quietly, his eyes dropping down to rest on Steve. “It’s not always very advisable in a hostage situation,” he admits. “Since doing so might piss off your captors more but…” His eyes flicker over Steve. “Sometimes it’s the only thing you have left to keep you sane.”

Silence falls heavily over the plane and Tony shifts uncomfortably while they wait for Bucky to collect his thoughts.

Bucky blinks and sucks in a breath before glancing up at them. “Steve was… back during the war, Steve was… he was captured by Hydra.” Tony feels his stomach drop at the revelation and he watches Bucky with wide eyes. “We found him on the fifth day,” Bucky continues, something distant in his eyes. “And when I found him—” His lips press together.

Natasha’s brow furls and her eyes dart between Bucky and Steve. “That was never in his files,” she says quietly, almost admitting outright that she hadn’t known about this before.

Bucky nods. “I’m not surprised,” he says looking at her. “The entire incident was kept under wraps.” A scowl flickers briefly over his face. “They couldn’t have it getting out that Captain America had gotten captured. Morale would’ve plummeted.”

Steve twitches in his sleep and his breathing speeds up before Bucky starts running a careful hand through his hair, his eyes distant as he talks. “When I found him, he was pretty much in the same state he is now, except—” His jaw flexes. “Except they’d been experimenting on him, tryin’ to figure out how the serum worked.” Bucky closes his eyes for a second. “They’d–” He breathes in quietly. “They were trying to see how quickly he healed, so… so they could use the data to test their own serums.”

Tony feels his eyes widen in horrified understanding and his hands tighten on his half-finished water bottle.

“They tortured him,” Sam states darkly, and Bucky nods.

“They had him strapped down on a table,” he says hollowly, his shoulders hunching slightly. “So many straps he couldn’t even move, and then they’d… they’d tested various things.” He ducks his head, his hand running through Steve’s hair rhythmically as though trying to gain some comfort from it.

“They’d taken his uniform,” he continues robotically. “And he had… burns, different sized burns up and down his arms and legs and… cuts of various sizes on his abdomen and—” He takes in a breath, swallowing shakily. “They’d pulled out a toenail and thumbnail, and a—”

“Tooth.” Tony cuts in, his voice raw with realisation. “The scientist said he was missing a tooth.”

Bucky nods. “Yeah,” he says a little roughly. “We saw the blood in his mouth after we’d pulled him out… but it was a devil of a time trying to get him to open it for us to see.”

He looks down at Steve and smooths the blanket a little. “He was practically delirious when we found him,” he explains quietly and Tony almost wishes that Bucky would stop talking. But it seems as though the super soldier couldn’t keep the words down any longer.

“They’d been feeding him with a feeding tube,” he explains, his eyes dim. “But it wasn’t enough to balance out the amount of calories that he needed to heal from what they were doing, so he was weak and— and for whatever reason they didn’t let him sleep.”

He looks up, his eyes hard. “They seemed determined to get in as many tests as possible,” he says tightly. “And when I found him, it was like he was stuck. He kept telling me to ‘destroy the results’ because, I guess he wanted to make sure they couldn’t keep any of the data they’d gathered from him.”

Tony swallows, and blinks away a wave of nausea and exhaustion. “He didn’t sleep much this time either,” he says roughly. “He kept jerking awake.”

Bucky nods at him. “He did that after we rescued him too,” he says, before looking back down at Steve. “He’ll probably wake up soon. They had some sort of machine attached to him so they could shock him if he fell asleep, I guess he kind of… learned to force himself awake after a while.”

A sudden movement to his left causes Tony to glance over at Natasha, and the spy is leaning forward in her seat, her hand over her mouth. The others turn to look at her questioningly and she drops her hand. “Right… after the Battle of New York,” she says slowly, her eyes on Steve. “We were training, and I was showing him my Widow Bites...”

Clint perks up beside her. “Oh hey, I remember that, didn’t Steve launch you like, ten feet…” He trails off and looks at Steve. “Oh.”

Natasha nods. “They were in Training mode. They wouldn’t have hurt more than static electricity, but while we were sparring, I guess I came up behind him, and, the next thing I know, I’m landing on a pile of mats on the other side of the room.”

Steve twitches in Bucky’s lap and he tightens his grip on him just a little. “That’s how they managed to capture him the first time,” he explains to her. “We were sweeping what we thought was an abandoned base, and someone snuck up while he was alone and managed to shock him until he passed out.”

Tony’s mind freezes, and a memory from just after the fall of SHIELD rises unpleasantly to the forefront of his brain. Steve, stiff and tired, explaining how Hydra had cornered him in an elevator and tried to take him down with “magnetic cuffs and shock batons”, a blank sort of deadness in his eyes that Tony hadn’t quite understood.

He understands it now.

Sam opens his mouth to say something but is cut off by Steve’s gasp, his eyes flying open as he jerks in Bucky’s lap. His pained panting fills the cabin before his voice cracks, and he begins to stutter out his name and number again.

“Steve— Steve— Steven,” he bites out and Bucky is instantly completely focused on his friend, holding his shoulders to keep him from accidentally tumbling onto the floor.

“Steve. Steve,” he says intently, leaning into the Captain’s line of sight. “You’re safe Stevie.”

Steve sucks in a breath through his teeth and reaches out a shaky hand to cling to Bucky’s uniform. Barnes places one hand over it and his face softens. “Yes,” he says simply. “It’s okay, we’re okay.” His hand tightens just slightly and he speaks up as soon as Steve pauses his repetition to get a breath in.

“Steve, Stevie, I need you to tell me the colours,” he says intently, catching Steve’s eyes. “Can you tell me the colours you see?”

To Tony’s surprise Steve’s eyes flicker around in response to the question. “Ah, ah, b-black,” he pants out, his hand flexing on Bucky’s uniform.

Bucky nods. “That’s good Steve,” he says. “What else?”

‘What else?’ becomes the new repetition for the day as Bucky continues to ask Steve for colours and Steve responds shakily, often repeating colours as he struggles to control his breathing. Eventually he begins to relax again, and Bucky manages to get him to drink some water and choke down a granola bar before he slips back into unconsciousness.

“That’s what we did last time,” Bucky says by way of explanation once Steve is settled again. “We didn’t have any meds that would help him, and the pain would send him back into a panic while Morita was trying to patch him up.”

“Why colours?” Clint asks after a second.

Bucky shrugs carefully. “Before the serum he was colorblind,” he explains. “Afterwards he was pretty fascinated by the colour of things and, I needed something to distract him with while we drove back to camp.” His eyes turn a little distant and he runs a hand through Steve’s hair. “Asking him for colours helped him focus on the present and remind him that he was safe.”

Tony almost misses the end of Bucky’s explanation because his exhaustion chooses that moment to take matters into its own hands, and he finds his eyes slipping closed, his head nodding forward against his will.

He vaguely acknowledges Bruce as the doctor gently pulls the water bottle from his lax grip and helps him lean back in his seat and he’s aware of someone pulling out another blanket, before he finally follows Steve’s example and drops off into oblivion.

oOo

Tony and Steve’s kidnapping hadn’t left them with many physical reminders, but the mental impact of their few days of captivity doesn’t seem eager to leave. The image of Steve, pale and terrified, seems to be burned into Tony’s brain and he finds himself jerking awake, a few nights later, memories of Steve’s haunting screams not far from mind.

He rubs his eyes blearily and begrudgingly pushes himself out of bed. He hadn’t really been expecting to sleep much anyways – that wasn’t really his thing – so he’s not surprised when he soon finds himself making his way clumsily to the common room, in search of his tablet.

He finds it laying on the living room coffee table. He also finds one super soldier, curled up in his pajamas on the couch, his gaze fixed on the moonlit windows that line the walls of the room.

It’s too late to pretend he hasn’t seen him, and something in Steve’s eyes makes Tony reluctant to just walk out again, so against his better judgement he finds himself sitting down on the other end of the couch. He onlines the tablet for something to do, but finds it harder to concentrate than he would have liked, his fingers pointlessly shifting between apps as his brain remains hyperaware of the figure beside him.

After a moment, Steve shifts and turns over to look at him. “I should probably apologise,” he says lowly, his voice almost strained. “For… my… behaviour, while we were captured.”

Tony’s fingers freeze and he darts his head to look up at Steve, the moonlight turning the Captain’s hair silver and highlighting the tired lines on his face. “Umm… I’m pretty sure you don’t, actually,” he replies.

A flash of stubbornness flickers across Steve’s face and he sets his jaw. “I was compromised,” he says tightly. “I was absolutely useless while we were captured, I can barely remember it because I was—”

“Traumatised,” Tony cuts in and Steve flinches, his gaze darting away. Tony’s eyes flicker over him for a second and he presses his lips together. “If… if the situation was flipped,” he says slowly. “And it was me who lost it, started,” he waves his hand, “started babbling about Afghanistan—” he swallows, “—or something. Would you be getting on my case?”

Steve frowns and his eyebrows tick downwards. “No,” he admits reluctantly to the floor.

Tony shrugs and subtly takes a breath. “Then don’t expect me to be any different,” he says firmly, his hands tightening on his tablet. He breathes in again. “What happened, happened,” he says firmly, his eyes on the tablet. “All we can do is deal with it…” He waves a hand. “And probably talk to Sam about ‘healthy coping mechanisms’ or something. Seems to be the preferred method nowadays.”

Steve huffs out a laugh and Tony feels his chest grow a little lighter at the sound.

“Yeah,” Steve replies, his shoulders relaxing. “Sam’s already talked to me a little about that.” He looks over at Tony. “…have you talked to him yet?”

Tony’s heart skips a beat and he fights to keep his expression casual. “Ah—no. Can’t say I have,” he replies, his eyes dropping down as he swipes randomly on his tablet.

Steve hums for a moment, his face turning away again towards the windows. “We probably should,” he says after a second without turning his head.

Tony looks up at him. “Yeah,” he says quietly, something loosening in his chest. “Yeah maybe.”