Writing Prompt - Start with this line of dialogue "He was unconscious when I found him"

A/N – OK, so this kind of turned out more painfully than expected – I seem to put Bucky through the mill whenever I use a writing prompt. I have no idea why. I can only apologise.

Also, my Russian is almost non-existent, so if you notice any mistakes, feel free to correct me – I won't be offended.

This is a one-shot for now, but I might expand it later, I haven't decided yet.

Author's Update - It's now longer than a one-shot

"He was unconscious when I found him."

"Oh no," Steve breathed, starting chest compressions on the prone body in front of him, "Oh no, no, no."

"Who would do this?" Stark asked, turning to where Clint still stood in the doorway, covered in Bucky's blood.

Clint shrugged helplessly, "I went to where the call came from Tony. There he was," Clint took in a deep breath, "like that."

"Jee-sus," Tony muttered.

Bucky had never looked so pale, clothes torn, blood splashes painting him Communist red.

Steve placed an ear to his friend's chest, "It's beating!" he hollered, "His heart is beating!"

The call had come early, some garbled Russian in Bucky's voice. Some crying and moaning. The word 'Steve.' Stark had traced the cell's location, found it just a few blocks from where Hawkeye was out on recon. Barton had headed there ASAP.

"Shit," came over the comms when Clint found him, "This is not good guys."

Bucky's dreams were black-and-white, flecked with crimson here and there. His finger on a trigger. People screaming. The cold. The pain. People over him – hurting him.

There was fog then. Fog that Bucky could see a figure moving through. Steve?

The figure spoke, "Oh no, no, no," it said. And there was more pain.

When he surfaced from the fog, like kicking through a watery pool, there was still pain. There were people around him. Hydra? Did he have a job to do?

"Net," he whispered, "pozhaluysta."

"Stark!" one of the people said, "He's awake!"

"Now?" was the answer, "Are you sure Cap? I hit him with enough anaesthetic to down The Hulk."

"Pozhaluysta," Bucky muttered. He tried to clear his head. Why did everything hurt so bad?

"Hey Buck," the first voice said, "Buck, come back to us."

Angliyskiy? English? Could he do English?

"Please," he murmered, grappling for the words. "No."

"No what Buck?" the voice asked.

"No hurt," Bucky whispered, "No more the hurt. Soldier obeys. Soldier complies. People do not the hurt need for soldier. Asset will obey."

A hand stroked his clammy brow, another held his flesh-hand, "No obeying," a calming voice said, "you're safe here. We're gonna take care of you."

"It was his metabolism," Stark said, "burned straight through everything I put in him.I've adjusted the levels and the chemical make-up, adding a few little quirks of my own. It should hold now."

"Is this stuff safe?" Steve asked.

"I think so...there isn't really much in the textbooks about a cryogenically frozen assassin with serum running through him and a bionic arm, y'know? Kind of flying by the seat of my pants here Cap," Tony replied, running a hand through his hair. "Now, me and Bruce need to prep for surgery...we have to fix the internal damage Rogers, or he ain't gonna make it."

Steve nodded, looking lost, "Take care of my boy Tony," he said, "This country owes him that much – more, actually, but it's a start."