Chapter Text
It had been a regular day for Steve.
He had woken up early in his tiny apartment to get ready for work. The small man didn't have the most fabulous job; he was currently working at an office while trying to save as much money as he could. Steve had always had dreams of becoming a great artist one day, but that hadn't worked out for him so far. The most he could do was sometimes draw portraits of some wealthy old ladies.
Steve had a usual routine: wake up, shower, put on glasses, put hearing aid in left ear, get dressed, eat a small breakfast, leave. His shower didn't always have hot water and his kitchen sometimes had roaches, but he knew it could worse. He always made sure that his door was locked and he had his keys and wallet and inhaler. He would pause to pet the cat that lived a few doors down from him before heading to the bus stop. He would arrive a bit early for work, punch in, get to his cubicle and prepare for another long, boring day.
The small group of people he worked with weren't exactly unfriendly, but everyone mostly kept to themselves. Steve didn't mind that too much. Throughout his life, people didn't seem to want to interact with him. Probably didn't even notice him. But it still would be nice to have a friendly chat every so often. He would even settle for pointless water cooler talk.
Everything had gone as normal until it was almost closing time. The only people left were Steve, his coworker, Bruce, and the janitor, Phil. Steve didn't know much about either of them. Bruce was usually polite, but quiet and focused on his work. But Phil was always up to talk, especially when Steve was working overtime. The older man was divorced and had two kids. He showed Steve every time he got a new picture of them.
“You two almost finished?” Phil asked. “I was going to mop tonight.” He waved the mop for emphasis.
“Yeah, almost,” Bruce replied. He stood and picked up a stack of paper. “I just need to staple these and file them.” He left to go to the filing room in the back.
Steve began to shut down his computer. “So, Phil, how are the kids?”
The older man beamed. “They're doing great. Maria is dating a decent guy for once and Peter is graduating high school.”
Steve smiled. “That's good to hear.”
“And how about you, Steve? Anyone new in your life? A lady, perhaps?”
Steve grimaced and looked down. “'Fraid not. Girls aren't really interested in guys like me.”
Phil patted his shoulder. “Don't worry about it. You just need to wait for the right person.”
“If you say so.”
They were both startled when they heard a loud thump coming from the back room. They waited in silence for a few moments.
“Bruce?” Steve called out. “You okay?”
More silence.
“You wait here,” Phil ordered in a low voice. “I'll go check things out back there.”
Steve may have been a small guy, but he had one hell of a temper. He wasn't someone to sit back and do nothing. “Hey, I'm not letting you go back there by yourself. What if something's wrong?”
“That's exactly why you are staying here,” Phil said. His paternal instincts were obviously kicking in. “I'm sure he's fine. Just, please, wait here.”
Steve wasn't happy, but it would be easier if he just listened. It was probably nothing, anyway. “Fine.”
Phil pulled a box cutter out of his pocket and clutched it tightly in his hand. The man slowly walked back to the source of the noise. Steve watched as he disappeared into the room. He stayed quiet and waited for any sort of noise.
It was eerily silent until he suddenly heard Phil shout. That was followed by a few bangs and the sound of a heavy weight fitting the floor. Okay, Steve was officially scared now. But he'd be damned if he just sat there and did nothing. Phil was in some sort of trouble and Steve wasn't going to just leave him there.
He armed himself with a paperweight and crouched down before creeping to the filing room. Perhaps his size would come in handy for once and would help hide him from whoever or whatever was back there. Or maybe there was nothing and Bruce and Phil were just playing a prank on him. Yeah, that was probably it. Playing a prank on poor old Steve...
Unfortunately, that was proved untrue when Steve came across a puddle of dark red liquid. His breath caught in his throat at the sight and his eyes slowly followed it up to the source.
It was Bruce. The man was laying on his back with a stapler still in his hand. His throat had been slashed and there appeared to be a few stab wounds to his chest as well. His mouth was hanging open, as if he were still trying to scream for help. But his eyes were blank and his body was still. He was dead.
Steve's heart sank to his stomach. What the hell had happened to Bruce? The poor man had just gone to finish his work and now he was laying dead on the floor. This-this sort of thing wasn't supposed to happen here. They were just a small office in Brooklyn, one of many. It wasn't like they had any money or anything in here.
Steve stifled a whimper and went to search for Phil. There was nothing he could do for Bruce now.
It didn't take long to find the janitor. He was in the same condition as Bruce. Even from the cabinet that Steve was hiding behind he could see that Phil's hands and face were a bloody mess. He gasped when he saw Phil's own box cutter sticking out of his chest. Whoever was back here must have gotten the better of him. Steve's eyes started to water. Phil did not fucking deserve this. And neither did Bruce. He couldn't hold back a sob.
He later wondered if that small sound is what did him in. Mere seconds later, a gloved hand roughly grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. It went from his shoulder to his mouth when Steve cried out. He blindly struck out with the paperweight, only to have it knocked out of his hand. His assailant's free hand seized his wrist and held it above his head.
So now Steve was being restrained by the guy who probably killed his coworkers. Lucky him.
Steve was a smart guy and quickly realized that this was most likely the end of his short, sad life. He could at least go out with a brave face. He tilted his head up to look his killer in the eyes and tried to put all the anger and outrage he felt in his glare.
The man who held him didn't look like a conventional murderer, at least in Steve's opinion. It was a young man, probably around Steve's age. His brown hair was long and his jaw was covered in stubble. His face was actually kinda handsome, but his expression was blank and he had the coldest blue eyes that Steve had ever seen. There was a baseball cap on his head and he was wearing a well-worn leather jacket.
They locked gazes for what seemed a long time. Steve glaring and the man staring at him blankly. Steve had no idea what was going on in this guy's head. Whatever the deranged thought about, he supposed.
The man's hand left his mouth and went to his neck and pressed-
Steve collapsed into the man's arms, unconscious as he was picked up and carried out of the office's back door. The same door that was usually locked, but Phil had been taking the garbage out earlier and forgot to re-lock it.
And that's how Steve Rogers first encountered James Buchanan Barnes, or as the papers called him, “The Winter Slasher.”
Steve woke dazed and disoriented. It took a few moments for him to be able to even think. He realized that he was in a moving car. Probably laying in the backseat. It was too dark to see. But why was he-
Everything that had happened at the office came rushing back to him. Bruce. Phil. Blood. Death. The strange man. Steve realized that he must have been kidnapped. What else could have happened? He sure as hell wasn't in the back of an ambulance. He began to panic. What was going to happen to him now? Was this psycho taking him somewhere else to kill him? Torture him?
Steve's survival instincts kicked in. He frantically tried to get up, not really sure what he was going to do. Attack his kidnapper, maybe. Or at least jump out of the car. But he couldn't move. The bastard must have tied him up. Now that he was focusing on it, he could definitely feel ties around his wrist and ankles and knees. There was a cloth stuffed in his mouth and tied around the back of his head. This guy was making sure Steve didn't go anywhere.
“Are you awake?” a voice asked. Male. Monotone. Not particularly deep.
Steve was angry again. How could this fucker sound so unaffected by what he just did?
“You were asleep for awhile,” the man continued. “We're almost there.”
Steve didn't know where “there” was, but it couldn't be any good. He tried in vain to get out of his restraints. All he ended up doing was chafing his skin and exhausting himself. His captor stayed eerily quiet as Steve squirmed and struggled. Steve thought that he would have preferred it if the guy was talking. At least then Steve would know what was on his mind.
Steve didn't know long it was before they finally stopped. It could have been minutes or hours. The car was turned off and he heard his captor get out. The small man couldn't help but flinch when the door by his head opened and his kidnapper grabbed him and pulled him out. He struggled as he was flung over a broad shoulder and carried away. Was this it? Was this freak going to kill him now? Steve managed to get a glimpse of the rust colored truck they drove in before he heard the jangling of keys and a door opening. All he managed to see was a bit of wooden floor before another door opened and he was flung down on a bed.
His captor made quick work of securing his wrists to the barred headboard. Steve cried out against his gag and tried his best to kick out. Who knew what was going to happen to him now?
But as soon as he had finished tying Steve, the man left the room and shut the door behind him. Steve stared at the door, certain that his captor would return at any moment with knife or gun and finish what he started in the office. Steve tried to get control of his breathing. Having an attack right now would do him no good. He could feel his inhaler in his pocket. His belt was cutting into him.
The man didn't come back. Steve kept his eyes open until they ached, afraid that the moment he blinked he would end up with a knife in his neck.
He eventually fell asleep.
There was light coming in through a nearby window when he woke. Steve didn't remember falling asleep. He cursed himself for it. What if his captor had come back at some point in the night? But it didn't seem like he had. Steve was exactly the same as he was last night. Bound, sore, and helpless, but otherwise unharmed.
Steve looked around the room he was in. The walls were wooden and undecorated. The floor was covered in a dark blue carpet. The one window was by the foot of the bed he was laying on. A nightstand was next to the bed. Steve tried to relax. His back was aching from lying still for so long. Well, he had made it through the night. He at least had that going for him.
It wasn't long before he noticed his bladder was full. Fuck, this is just what he needed. There was no way for him to relieve himself like this. Not unless he wanted to wet the bed. Steve didn't know how highly his captor valued his possessions, but he wasn't going to risk making a mess. And as much as he didn't want to be around the man who had killed his coworkers, Steve wasn't going to stay like this. If he was going to die, it wasn't going to be with piss soaked pants.
But how was he going to get the bastard's attention? Steve scooted up the bed as best as his restraints would allow. He found that if he reached, his hands could touch the wall behind him. He balled them into fist and hit the wall as hard as he could. It made an echo all through the room. Steve listened for movement outside the door. Nothing. Oh lord, what if the man wasn't even in the building anymore?
Determined, Steve kept knocking on the wall. What if he had been abandoned here, left to starve? He would have rather been stabbed like Phil. It couldn't have been more than a minute before the door opened and his captor stepped in the room. The man had removed his cap and jacket. His brown hair looked greasy and matted in the light. He was wearing a black shirt that allowed Steve to see the man's muscular arms and torso.
He walked over to the bed and undid the gag. “What is it?” he demanded in a flat voice.
Steve wanted to shout at this fucker. Wanted to tell him everything that had been bubbling inside of him ever since he found Phil's body. Wanted to bring some emotion to that blank face and eyes. But that could wait for later.
He couldn't believe he was saying this. “I...I have to use the...bathroom.” What a thing to request from his potential killer.
The man just looked at him for a few moments. If he hadn't already spoken, Steve would have wondered if he knew English. His bladder felt ready to burst. Steve was just about to beg when the man moved. Fast as lightning, he pulled a switchblade out of his pocket and cut the rope on Steve's legs. Steve had just registered what happened when the man started to untie his wrists from the bedframe. He pocketed the knife before seizing Steve by the shoulders and dragging him off the bed. Every instinct Steve had told him to run at that moment, but his legs had gone numb from disuse. Everywhere else hurt badly.
The man lifted him by the arms and half-carried, half-marched him out the door, Steve could see now that they were in a small house, likely a cabin. There was a living room, a kitchen, and another door on the opposite side of the building which was revealed to be the bathroom. There was nothing special about it. White ceramic toilet, sink, and bathtub. Steve was hoping that the man would undo his hands so he could take care of himself, but that wasn't the case. His captor stood him in front of the toilet and raised the lid with a foot. He kept one strong arm around Steve's chest and used to other hand to undo Steve's fly and pulled out his cock. “Go on,” the man instructed him.
Steve couldn't believe this. No, no way was he letting this guy help him piss. “Please -”
“Go. On.” It was the first time Steve heard any infliction in the man's voice. It was terrifying.
So he swallowed his pride and shut his eyes and let himself go. The sound of his stream hitting the toilet water hit his ears, so at least the man was aiming him right. He tried to focus on that sound and not the situation he was in.
When he was finished, the man tucked him back into his pants and flushed the toilet. Steve wasn't surprised when he was lifted and carried back to the room he woke up in, where he was dropped back onto the bed. The man simply stood and looked at him. His eyes were a bit narrowed, as if Steve did something odd. Steve scooted as far back as he could. He was going to get some damn answers and he wanted at least some distance in between them.
“Who are you?” he demanded. Best to start out simple.
The man stayed silent.
“Why did you bring me here?”
The man shrugged.
Steve was getting frustrated. “You had to bring me here for a reason. What was it? Are you going to kill me like you killed Phil and Bruce?”
It was silent for a few long moments. “Who are Phil and Bruce?”
“Those two men who you slaughtered back in the office!” Steve cried. “Remember? Bruce was the one who's throat you cut and you fucking stabbed Phil with his own box cutter!”
The man nodded. “I remember.” Still no emotion.
Steve's felt ready to explode. Not for the first time he wished that he was as big and strong as a guy his age should be. “They were innocent people! Phil had a fucking family! Why did you kill them, you sick son of a bitch?”
The man shrugged again. “The door was open. It was easy.”
Steve felt like he was going to be sick. “That's it? Just because you could?”
“I guess so.”
Steve took a few deep breaths. He wasn't sure he could handle another minute with this monster. “And what about me? I'm an easy target, aren't I? Why aren't you killing me right now?”
The man frowned. He seemed confused as well. “I don't want to.”
“Why did you bring me here if you won't kill me?”
Another damn shrug. “Felt like it.”
“Oh, god,” Steve groaned. He had been taken to god-knew-where on the complete whim of a murderer. And he thought his life sucked before.
Another tense silence.
“Bucky.”
“What?”
“You can call me Bucky,” the man said. He somehow looked nervous, as if this was precious information he was giving Steve.
“Bucky,” the blond repeated. Of all the names he expected a killer to have, that wasn't it. He let out a hysterical laugh. “Hi there, Bucky. I'm Steve.”