Archive of Our Own ^beta

It started, as these things often did, with a bad feeling.

Sam Wilson knew something was off the second Bucky stopped checking in. Not that Bucky was a frequent texter—he sent memes once every three months and treated punctuation like a hostage negotiation—but he didn’t disappear for twenty-three hours without a word.

The tension in Sam’s chest had gone from low-grade irritation to full-blown dread.

Across the room, Joaquín Torres was tapping through encrypted SHIELD feeds on a beat-up computer. “They never made it to the extraction point,” he said, grim. “Last confirmed ping was two clicks outside Prague. Then radio silence.”

Bucky and Bob Reynolds were supposed to be handling a soft recon sweep. Low-risk, diplomatic cover, no combat expected. Now, both of them were missing, and Sam didn’t like what that suggested.

“Two of the most dangerous men we’ve got,” Joaquín muttered. “And someone managed to vanish them.”

Sam crossed his arms, jaw tight. “They didn’t vanish. Someone took them. Which means someone’s going to have a really bad day when we find them.”

“And we’re not calling this in because...?”

Sam shot him a look. “Because if Bob’s not responding, there’s a reason. And if Bucky’s not punching through a wall to get back to me, he’s in chains or worse. This is unofficial.”

Joaquín’s lips curved into a grin. “So we’re doing this the dumb way?”

“The dumb, dangerous, slightly illegal way,” Sam said. “Suit up.”

The Czech mountains in August were deceptively calm: cool air, starlit sky, nothing to suggest that a highly illegal and incredibly fortified blacksite sat nestled in the craggy hills. Sam and Joaquín landed a mile out, wings folded, hearts pounding.

“Last signal came from inside the perimeter,” Joaquín said, scanning the terrain. “Underground, maybe a few levels deep.”

Sam checked his harness. “You still have that EMP puck you built?”

“I have three. You want the spicy one?”

“I want the one that says ‘don’t ever kidnap our partners again’.”

They slipped past the perimeter fence with silent precision. Joaquín handled the cameras; Sam took care of the patrols. It was second-nature now—like flying in tandem, or fighting through a city block, or pulling your boyfriend out of Hydra ruins on a Monday night.

They dropped down into the access shaft and descended in silence, the tension thick as steel.

Joaquín held up a hand. “Two life signs in the far cell. Minimal movement. I think they’re drugged.”

Sam didn’t answer. He was already moving.

The door exploded inward with a boom of compressed air and vengeance. Sam swept the room first—no guards, just a holding cell with reinforced alloy and a dim red light overhead.

Bucky was sitting against the wall, face bruised, metal arm damaged, but he looked up the moment Sam entered. “Took you long enough.”

Sam ignored the quip and dropped to his knees. “You okay?”

“Better now.”

On the other side of the cell, Bob was curled into himself. Joaquín rushed over, scanning him with trembling hands. “Bob. Hey. Look at me.”

Bob cracked an eye open. “Torres?”

“Yeah. I’m here.” Joaquín helped him sit up. “You with me?”

“They put something in my head. Noise. Kept me... off-balance.”

Sam glanced over. “Can he walk?”

“No,” Joaquín said immediately. “I’ll carry him.”

Sam turned back to Bucky. “You good to move?”

Bucky smiled despite the blood at the corner of his mouth. “I’m not missing my ride.”

The escape was textbook chaos. Red lights flashing. Alarms shrieking. Someone shouting orders in Czech behind layers of reinforced doors.

Sam swept up Bucky like he weighed nothing and launched out through the ceiling shaft they came in through. Joaquín followed, half-dragging Bob, wings flaring as they burst into the night sky.

“Extraction plan?” Joaquín shouted over the wind.

“Keep flying and don’t get shot!”

Tracer rounds lit up the sky as the compound scrambled to respond. Sam dodged a bullet, dipped low over the ridge, and banked hard to avoid another. Bucky clung to him, fingers curled into the straps of his suit.

“I hate this,” Bucky whined.

“You hate everything,” Sam shot back. “Including kale and my music.”

“And those neon sneakers you bought last week.”

“They’re functional!”

“They’re loud.”

“You’re literally being rescued and critiquing my wardrobe?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, voice quieter now. “I missed this.”

They landed in a clearing three miles south, breathless and shaking. Joaquín laid Bob gently on the ground. 

“You saved me,” Bob said, voice rough. “I didn’t think you’d get here in time.”

“I was already halfway there,” Joaquín said. “The second I felt something was wrong.”

Bob reached up and touched Joaquín’s cheek like he couldn’t believe he was real. “I didn’t fight. I couldn’t.”

“You don’t have to,” Joaquín whispered. “You just had to hold on.”

A long silence passed before Bob leaned forward, pressing their foreheads together. The glow around him warmed.

Meanwhile, Sam sat beside Bucky, gently examining the damage to his arm.

“You did all this with a dislocated arm?” Sam asked.

“I improvise.”

“You get kidnapped and electrocuted and your version of ‘improvise’ is bleeding all over the place?”

Bucky gave him a weak grin. “You worry too much.”

Sam met his eyes, something tender and ferocious beneath the sarcasm. “Yeah. I do.”

He leaned in, pressing a soft, grounding kiss to Bucky’s temple. “Don’t scare me like that again.”

Bucky closed his eyes. “I’ll try.”

Back at the safehouse, after temporary field repairs and bad instant noodles, things were quieter.

Bucky, bandaged and bone-tired, sat beside Sam. Bob had fallen asleep on the couch, cradled protectively in Joaquín’s arms.

Sam glanced at the two of them, then nudged Bucky’s shoulder. “They’re good together.”

“Yeah,” Bucky said. “Makes you wonder how many disasters it takes before two people figure it out.”

“Hopefully less than we needed,” Sam replied.

Bucky looked at him, eyes soft. “You saved my life.”

“You save mine all the time,” Sam said. “We’re even.”

Bucky tilted his head. “You want to do something stupid?”

Sam arched a brow. “Define ‘stupid.’”

“Getting married.”

Sam stared for a second. “That’s not stupid.”

“No?”

Sam smiled. “That’s just the tiniest bit risky.”