Summary: A Civil War AU for Bucky's interrogation scene. Steve reaches the cell in time to stop Zemo before the trigger words are complete, leaving Bucky's mind caught in mid-transformation. Enjoy the angst!

Disclaimer: I own nothing and make no profit from my literary endeavors.

Author's Note: I'm not sure if this will ever progress beyond a oneshot, but the idea won't leave me alone. Poor Bucky (and Steve) must now suffer the wrath of my inspiration. And for the sake of creative expression, I'm conveniently ignoring the fact that the timing for an AU like this probably isn't plausible. But how much really is plausible in these action movies anyway? Enjoy!

The Wrong Side of the Glass

Steve ran.

The instant the power in the complex failed, he had looked to Sharon Carter, who'd told him where Bucky was being held. And then Steve ran. Sam was probably somewhere behind him, but they both knew from personal experience that he wouldn't be able to keep up; and Steve didn't have time to wait for him.

Something about all this just didn't feel right – something beyond the fact that his best friend was sitting as a prisoner in the depths of the most secure building in Germany. His heart had been ill at ease ever since seeing that supposed photo of Bucky at the bombing in Vienna. Surely, if anyone in this world possessed the skill to attack the United Nations in broad daylight and not be discovered as the culprit, it was the Winter Soldier. And if, for some reason, the Soldier wanted to reveal his involvement, wouldn't he be more obvious about it? Why not make a show of that famous arm to declare his animosity instead?

The Winter Soldier could be brilliantly subtle or brilliantly bold…but that picture being broadcasted to the world was a poor example of either approach. It just didn't make sense!

And so Steve ran.

He had to fight his way through a handful of security guards as he neared his destination; their resistance scarcely gave him pause as he incapacitated them all, a fate easily accomplished even without his shield. Sam could deal with any stragglers, but there was simply no time to waste! The closer Steve came to Bucky, the more he knew in his heart that something was terribly wrong.

When he barged through the doors into the room where the Winter Soldier's tiny cell had been deposited, Steve froze in a combination of shock and horror. Bucky was free from the chair to which he'd been so securely bound, now using his powerful left arm to pound away at the cell door in blind, barbaric fury. And circling the cell like a predator in the darkness, with a flashlight in one hand and a small red book in the other, was the "doctor" who had supposedly been sent to give the Winter Soldier a psychological evaluation. The doctor spoke a harsh-sounding word in Russian, and Bucky's efforts actually intensified.

It took only one second for Steve's militant mind to assess the situation; and then, without a single thought for cause or consequence, he hurled himself bodily at the doctor, knocking the smaller man off his feet and interrupting whatever word he'd been about to utter next. He opened his mouth to try again, but Steve never gave him the opportunity. A quick jab with his right hand simultaneously broke the doctor's nose and rendered him unconscious.

That done, Captain America leapt to his feet and rushed to the front of the holding cell, where the Winter Soldier was still doing everything in his power to break free. The assassin's head remained down as he rained blow after blow upon the door, each strike punctuated with a scream wrenched from the depths of his being; a curtain of disheveled dark hair prevented Rogers from seeing his face.

He came quietly enough once they caught up to him in Bucharest, Steve thought desperately. What the hell did that doctor do to him in so short a time?

"Bucky? Bucky, stop! Don't do this, Buck, please!"

At the sound of a new voice, the man on the other side of the glass finally raised his head, and Steve took an involuntary step backward as he looked into the manic eyes of the Winter Soldier. But no – not completely. Something hurting and humane still clung to the corners of the killer's eyes, and once again, Steve knew he had to act quickly.

"Look at me," he demanded without breaking the eye contact. How many times would they have to go through this? He spoke slowly, deliberately, "Your name is James Buchanan Barnes, and you are my friend."

Bucky bared his teeth in a wordless snarl and swung his metal fist once more at the door, but this blow seemed to have slightly less force behind it than the others. Steve latched onto that scant encouragement, praying it wasn't just a product of his biased imagination.

"I'm with you, Buck. Do you hear me? With you to the end of the line – remember?"

Barnes' entire body stopped in mid-swing, and he stumbled backward a step before tripping over the chair bolted down behind him and tumbling to the ground. The Soldier shook his head as though stunned, his breathing loud and ragged as he gracelessly regained his feet.

Standing there helpless, Steve could scarcely keep his own heart from racing away in a dead panic. "Bucky?"

His friend of so many years ago staggered forward, but when Bucky struck the glass this time, the blow was accompanied by a bitter cry of pain rather than rage. It was still enough to finally break the seal on the door, though; Steve could see it. One more hit, and it would come off with frightening ease.

But instead of lashing out again, Bucky slid down the glass to his knees; his vacant blue eyes stared off into nothing. Outside the cell, Steve mirrored his position.

"Stay with me, Buck," he entreated earnestly. Although, at the same time, he did realize that "come back to me" might have been the more appropriate phrase. He rested both palms against his side of the glass, ready to brace it if need be in the face of another strike.

"Bucky, can you hear me? Please, stay with me. It's Steve."

"Ste…" The Soldier's voice came out as a strangled whisper, unable to even finish that one syllable. And his dazed eyes finally drew to a focus not on the Captain's face, but rather on his right hand pressed against the other side of the glass. That gleaming metal arm rose up again; but this time, the fingertips only brushed gently against the transparent surface, as though reaching for Rogers' hand.

Steve's heart clenched, but there was no time for words when another sudden change came over his friend. Bucky began to tremble violently, his breathing growing ever harsher, until at last he jerked to one side and vomited onto the cell floor. Even after his stomach had purged its meager contents, he retched and dry-heaved bile a few more times.

Groaning as though physically in pain, the shaking Soldier then crawled over to the corner of the cell and curled up on himself – head bowed low, with his knees drawn tight against his chest like a frightened child. The groans escalated once more into screams of hopeless despair as he dug both hands into his unkempt hair and pulled.

Again Steve followed the movement from outside the cell; yet for all his worry, he was entirely at a loss about what to do next. A clamp of sorrow and deep regret squeezed the air from his chest as he watched this man so obviously at war with himself. Had Bucky spent many nights under similar distress, suffering all alone in that dim little apartment? Part of Steve longed to simply finish yanking the cell door off himself so he could go in to comfort his friend. But he couldn't see the other's face now and therefore had no way of telling who had the upper hand in the conflict.

This was the fiercest battle Bucky Barnes or the Winter Soldier would ever face – the one they constantly fought against each other. As long as Bucky lived, that war would never truly be over; and for all his physical prowess, his mental strength might never be sufficient to keep the Soldier wholly in check. Even now, the efforts to do so racked his body with such convulsions that his shoulders rattled audibly against the glass. How Steve wished he could fight this battle for him!

After what felt like hours, a pitifully weak "Steve?" emerged from the assassin's huddled form.

Steve eagerly pressed his hands against the glass once more, leaning forward as far as he could. "Yeah, Buck, I'm here. I'm here!" Evidently, his friend remembered more than he had let on during their brief conversation in Bucharest.

But Bucky either didn't hear him now or couldn't tell where the voice was coming from. "Steve?" He sounded so very lost, so confused – as though his mind was groping blindly in the dark for the one and only handhold it could still trust.

"Steve…"

The word was a muffled sob this time, and that did it. There was no way Captain America could just sit here on the wrong side of the glass while his best friend of old uttered his name over and over again like a prayer! Now that the scales of his indecision had been tipped in favor of "recklessly sentimental," Steve easily found a grip around the door's broken seal before ripping the damn thing off altogether.

But Sam had finally caught up with him, and it was his disbelieving voice that delayed Steve's entrance into the cell.

"Whoa, Cap, hold on! You're not actually letting him out?"

Steve sighed and ran a hand through his hair, exasperated. "It doesn't matter, Sam; that door was about to come off, anyway."

"Yeah, thanks to him," a rather winded Falcon argued, "which is exactly my point. If he doesn't recognize you, he'll do the same thing to your face, and it'll be the helicarrier all over again. You know how dangerous he is!"

Rogers stood his ground. "If he's asking for me, he'll recognize me. Besides, he's not trying to escape now, even though the door is gone; I'll risk it. If he kills me, you and Nat can write my sorry obituary."

"Right: 'Captain America beaten to death while hugging the Winter Soldier.'" Wilson shamelessly rolled his eyes. "But seriously, Steve, just stop and think for a minute here. You already broke the law once trying to help an international fugitive escape the authorities. What will this look like now? You've been here for all of five minutes; and already Barnes is free, the cell is useless, and the doctor is out cold."

That last remark brought Steve's anger surging back to the forefront, supplanting his worry as he sharply retorted, "That's no doctor. Whoever he is, he must have done all of this just to get ten minutes alone with Bucky. So he could draw out the Winter Soldier."

Sam nodded, almost placating. "I believe you, Cap, but I wasn't here to see it for myself. And with no functioning cameras and no witnesses except the Winter Soldier himself to back you up, the task force isn't likely to give your story much credit, either. Although, they will have to admit that something did this to their deadly assassin."

Pressed hard into the corner, Bucky rocked back and forth, still clutching his head and moaning. Indeed, he appeared totally unaware of the door's recent removal and of the conversation taking place only a few feet away.

"Steve?" he whimpered again. "Please…"

His patience gone, Steve at last stepped into the cell, gingerly navigating around the mess. There was barely room for two super-soldier bodies in this tiny space, but he managed to wedge himself between the wall and the chair before crouching down in front of his friend. Bucky's eyes were squeezed shut, and his hands were clasped over his ears as though trying to shut out voices that only he could hear. His mechanical limb clicked and whirred under the strain, and Steve immediately grew alarmed at the pressure being exerted against Bucky's own temple.

"Easy, Buck, don't hurt yourself."

Purely on instinct, he reached for Barnes' hands and drew them away from his head – as gently as possible, considering the amount of effort involved. Lowering the Winter Soldier's arms was like trying to bend an oak branch! It was also the first time Steve had touched Bucky's prosthetic limb in a non-combat situation. He would have expected the metal to feel cold, but it was actually hot now from all the exertion coming off his friend. And it left him wondering: could Bucky's arm distinguish between different temperatures and textures? Did he feel pain when it was damaged?

Thus distracted, Rogers remembered too late that Bucky was still highly unstable right now, and touching him without warning or permission might not have been the best idea. But the deed had already been done. While Steve readied himself for some sort of violent outburst, Bucky's only reaction was to wrap his mechanical fingers around his companion's wrist like a vise – hard enough to bruise even a super-soldier's flesh, but with no real malice behind the pressure. Just a man grasping for an anchor amidst a storm of raw and writhing fear. Steve could feel the artificial digits still twitching involuntarily against his skin.

"Bucky?"

At long last, those blue eyes opened; and through his tears, Bucky finally recognized the man kneeling in front of him. When his bloodshot gaze latched onto Steve's face and didn't stray, relief escaped the Captain in an audible sigh. By all appearances, the Soldier had retreated – at least for now.

Bucky swallowed hard, his eyes never leaving Rogers' face, and he grated out in a hoarse voice, "Steve…help me."

It was the hopeless plea of a man caught in a war he didn't expect to win, and Steve's own eyes filled with tears to realize how little he could do to truly help.

"It's all right, Bucky. I'm here now, and I'm not going to leave you. I promise." The words spilled out of his mouth in a rush, an automatic response to this aching need to offer comfort. He didn't look at Sam, who was standing over the still-unconscious doctor; but he could perfectly visualize Wilson shaking his head over how impossible it might be to keep that promise in their present position.

"I could have hurt you." Bucky's breath hitched, and he grimaced. "I would have hurt you, again, if he had finished…"

"But you didn't, Buck. You didn't, and everything's going to be okay. You're back with me now."

Barnes bowed his head, dark hair again shielding him from his friend's regard. "Steve, I can't…"

He trailed off, unable to articulate further, but Steve could guess his meaning well enough. Bucky didn't believe that he could conquer the demons inside his own head, or that he could cope with the consequences when he failed to do so. And in light of what had almost happened here in the last ten minutes, Steve could hardly blame him.

Nevertheless, he obstinately encouraged, "Yes, you can. Remember how you saved me from the river, even though I was your mission? Remember your time in Bucharest, living quietly?" That last bit was entirely a guess on his part, and Steve prayed he wasn't wrong about it! "You can beat this, Bucky. You can! And this time I'll be here to help you."

When the dejected Soldier still didn't acknowledge him, Rogers decided it was time for something bolder – something more concrete to validate his sincerity. Still sitting, he slowly pulled Bucky closer until gravity tipped him forward into Steve's waiting embrace. Bucky sagged against him without a word, utterly drained, with his forehead pressed against the juncture of Steve's neck and shoulder; his metal hand buried itself in the back of Rogers' shirt and clung to it like a lifeline.

Steve, in turn, wrapped one arm around Bucky's shivering shoulders and gingerly laid the other hand on the back of his neck. Barnes' skin and clothing alike were clammy with perspiration, and the muscles under Steve's touch remained rock-hard from coiled tension.

"I could have killed you…" Bucky murmured again, inconsolable at the thought. "All he had to do…was finish the damn words."

"The words in here?" That was Sam now, holding aloft the red book he'd taken from the doctor's limp fingers moments before.

"Yeah, that's the one," Steve confirmed, feeling Bucky's trembling renew in intensity. He tightened his own grip in response and was surprised when the man in his arms spoke again, this time with frantic conviction.

"Don't…let them have it."

But the Captain gently protested, "Buck, we'll need it as evidence against the doctor, to prove what he was trying to do to you."

"No!" Bucky flinched, and his grip on Steve's shirt miraculously tightened. "If they have it…they'll use it. Please, Steve…"

Captain America looked back at his follow Avenger, obviously torn and seeking some kind of guidance.

"I can't make this call for you, Cap," Wilson deferred with a reluctant shake of his head. "You and he both have excellent points."

Steve sighed bitterly, moving his hand to smooth Bucky's hair in what he hoped was a calming gesture. What he really wanted right now was to see that "doctor" subjected to the same type of treatment the Winter Soldier had endured over the past few hours. But how could he best handle this situation without betraying Bucky's trust and inviting the same disaster all over again?

"Hold onto it for me, Sam," he decided at last. "We can show it to Ross and the others, but I'm not going to let them study it. After we make our case against the doctor, I swear I'll burn it – even if that means I end up in a cell next to him."

"As long 'him' means Barnes and not the doctor, I don't think you'd mind that too much," Falcon grimly observed. "But it's gonna have to be a different cell. This one didn't exactly work out as planned."

That much was true; the Winter Soldier had made a mockery of the U.N.'s "extensive" security measures. Although, if he was perfectly honest, Steve couldn't help feeling a little proud of him as a result. Because it proved that Bucky could have tried to escape at any time, provided he didn't care about the resulting casualties; but he had resisted the temptation – at least, for as long as he was still Bucky. Or perhaps, despite all his running in Bucharest, he had simply resigned himself to his fate; perhaps, deep down, he didn't see himself as worthy of anything different.

The thought alone brought fresh tears to Steve's eyes, and he briefly rested his chin on top of Bucky's head. Life just wasn't fair. It hadn't been fair in 1945, and it certainly wasn't fair now! But it seemed especially unfair to this man who had just been taken apart and left in pieces by nothing more than a few words. It wasn't fair that James Barnes had been corrupted into the Winter Soldier; not fair that the Winter Soldier had been brainwashed to fight his oldest friend to the death; not fair that the Winter Soldier had been ripped from a relatively peaceful existence, all because of a crime he didn't commit. All because one more bastard had wanted to take advantage of his mind and use him.

Steve glanced around at the damage on all sides and fought to ignore the cloak of despair settling over his own heart. Sam did have a point, after all; he usually did. How were they possibly going to explain all of this? Additional security would arrive at any second now. Was there any way Steve could use these events to steer the future in a different direction? Preferably a direction that didn't involve surrendering Bucky into the hands of a vengeful monarch?

As if sensing his protector's grim thoughts, Bucky let out an exhausted sigh of his own and rubbed his head against Steve's shoulder. He was much quieter now, his panic seemingly diminished although not wholly vanquished. It was strangely tranquil in that moment; as if both men could sense that this might be their last opportunity to simply rest in each other's presence. Sam stood in respectful silence outside the cell, guarding the red book and no doubt watching for the arrival of intruders upon their privacy.

Steve rubbed soothing circles on Bucky's back, but already his heart ached at the understanding that this serenity could not last. Decades ago, the grief of losing Bucky had nearly devastated him; and only now, here in this cell, did Steve finally feel like Bucky had truly come back to him. How could he survive all that grief and wretched loneliness again if he lost him a second time? He knew he would do absolutely everything in his power to help his friend – but he also knew too well that sometimes even Captain America wasn't strong enough to save the people closest to him.

He could hear voices approaching now, shouting in both English and German; they would be here soon. Ultimately, in a moment of morbid humor, Steve could only conclude that everyone involved had gotten a hell of a lot more than they'd bargained for with this "psychological evaluation."

Author's End Note: This is possibly TBC. I have some ideas for progressing this storyline, but I'm not sure yet if I can work out all the details in a plausible manner. Nevertheless, I do promise I will try, and feel to leave suggestions for future chapters in a review! I suspect I may need all the help I can get on this one. Thanks for reading!