The room was dark and cold, the air thick with tension. You sat bound to the chair, bruised but unbroken, your mind sharp despite the exhaustion that tugged at you. They had underestimated you—a mistake you hoped they’d regret when Bucky arrived. Because you knew he would come. He always did.

The faint sound of heavy boots echoed down the corridor, distant at first but growing louder. The guards near the door exchanged uneasy glances, their hands twitching toward their weapons. You felt it, too—the shift in the air, the storm that was about to break.

And then, chaos.

The door slammed open, the force splintering the frame. Bucky was there, a dark silhouette against the dim light, his metal arm gleaming with an almost predatory edge. His face was a mask of icy fury, his movements fluid and deadly as he dispatched the guards with precision. Each strike was deliberate, a calculated display of the Winter Soldier’s unrelenting power.

It was over in seconds. The room fell silent, save for the ragged breathing of the men now lying unconscious at Bucky’s feet. He turned to you, his sharp gaze softening just slightly as he took in your battered form.

“Bucky,” you breathed, relief washing over you like a tidal wave.

In an instant, he was kneeling before you, his hands working quickly to undo the restraints. His metal fingers, so often a weapon, were now impossibly gentle as they brushed against your wrists.

“They touched you,” he muttered darkly, his jaw tightening. “I should’ve been faster.”

He helped you stand, his arm steadying you as your legs threatened to give out. For a moment, neither of you moved, the reality of the situation settling between you. Then, without warning, Bucky pulled you into his arms, holding you as if letting go wasn’t an option.