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“That shield doesn’t belong to you,” Tony spat, angrily. “You don’t deserve it. My father made that shield!”
Tony wanted an argument, it was obvious. He couldn’t beat Steve, but he wasn’t done trying to fight. Even broken and draining of power, Tony wouldn’t accept defeat. He was just like his father, in that way. Steve thought, briefly, about giving Tony what he wanted. After all, Tony’s father had made Steve, too. But, that didn’t matter anymore—it hadn’t mattered in a long time. It was hardly worth pointing out.
Bucky shifted, weakly against him, a tremor running through his body. Steve knew they had to get out of there before anyone else showed up. He was lucky Tony had decided to come alone—he didn’t think he could manage another fight. And Bucky definitely wasn’t up for one.
Steve sighed and dropped the shield, enjoying the finality that leaving it behind created. There were more important things to deal with now than how Tony felt about him or the shield. Steve didn’t much care anymore, anyway. Things were so wrong in so many ways and he wasn’t sure if there was a way to fix them.
“Hang on,” Steve muttered to Bucky, shifting his weight and reaching up with his now-free hand to grad the wrist that was hanging over his shoulder.
__________
A few yards away from the ship, Steve pressed the remote trigger on his utility belt and the ship’s flight door opened to greet him.
“Almost there, Buck.” Steve sad softly, looping two fingers in his friend’s belt to help shift him up the short ramp. He carefully moved Bucky, avoiding the wreck that was the remains of the metal prosthesis. Bucky was still able to help a little, but his vacant expression told Steve that he wasn’t really home right now. Steve wasn’t sure how the arm was connected to Bucky, but he had to assume that his friend was going into some kind of shock from the trauma.
Bucky muttered something and let go of Steve’s shoulder, tumbling headfirst into the closest seat on the ship. He grabbed at the back of the chair for dear life, trying to bring himself into a seated position. But, his legs gave out beneath him and he slid to the ground instead. Steve followed him in through the door and grabbed Bucky by the arm, levering him up to prop him, more comfortably, on the side of the ship he had fallen against. Steve squatted down and unclipped his helmet, tossing it aside.
“Bucky?” he asked, watching his friend’s head loll backwards against the bulkhead. His eyes twitched, but only flew at half-mast. Steve sighed and reached out with two fingers, pushing Bucky’s jacket away from his neck. He pressed down on the artery there and felt the steady ‘thump, thump, thump’ of Bucky’s pulse.
Well, at least there was that.
“Hey,” Steve tried again, standing up and walking toward the ship’s controls. “Bucky? I need you to talk to me, here.” He called again, looking back down at his friend. He quickly pressed a few buttons on the console and the ship roared to life. The bulkhead door closed slowly and locked with a ‘click’. The HUD blinked on in front of him. When he still didn’t get a response, Steve walked back over to Bucky and knelt down in front of him again.
“Can you hear me?” Steve asked, tapping Bucky’s cheek lightly. Bucky nodded weakly and tensed up as a shiver coursed through his body.
Steve sighed in relief, absently wiping a line of blood from Bucky’s top lip before letting his hand fall down to the zipper of Bucky’s jacket. After a moment, he asked dumbly: “Does it hurt?” He had never thought about whether the arm caused Bucky any pain or if he could feel anything with it at all. It made sense that he could feel something; he had to be able to regulate the pressure he used to hold things. But, pain? Steve had no idea about that.
“Yeah,” Bucky said, quietly, solving the mystery. “It burns.” He added, shifting uncomfortably against the bulkhead. Steve sighed and unzipped Bucky’s jacket halfway down his chest, offering him a little more breathing room.
“Ok,” Steve nodded, putting a hand on the undamaged shoulder. “I’m gonna get you some help.”
Bucky finally opened his eyes, looking directly at Steve. They were red-rimmed and brimming with tears. He took a shuddering breath and nodded slightly.
“Is there anything I can do?” Steve asked, giving Bucky’s shoulder a squeeze.
Bucky looked away, thinking. His eyes tracked to the warped and twisted metal at his shoulder and he swallowed thickly. After a second, he shook his head and looked back at Steve.
“I don’t know,” he replied, his voice quivering like he was about to cry. It was obvious Bucky had never been in charge of the care and keeping of his mechanical arm. He had been at the mercy of other people to repair damage to it. Steve assumed that, among other things, that had to be pretty upsetting in the current situation.
“Ok,” Steve replied, giving Bucky a little smile. “That’s OK.”
All he could do was his best to reassure his friend, even though he had no clue what he was dealing with. He had no idea where to go or what kind of help he could give to Bucky. They were both wanted men and Steve didn’t exactly have a long list of people left who would stick their neck out for him.
Steve sighed, got up from his squat in front of Bucky and sat down in the ship’s flight seat. He tapped a few buttons that brought up a map. He didn’t even know where to start.
“I’m sorry,” Bucky said, suddenly, breaking the silence Steve hadn’t even noticed had gathered. He turned around in the chair to face Bucky, curious.
“For what, Buck?”
“For everything,” he replied softly, wincing as he shifted his legs in front of him.
“I told you, it wasn’t you.” Steve reminded him, giving him a sad little smile.
“But, your friend,” Bucky clarified, looking down at the floor. Another shudder of pain ran through him and he squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them again, there were tears there. “Tony.”
Steve sighed and nodded slightly. He had no idea what to say to that. Bucky was his best friend. He had failed him once before and now, as if by a miracle, he was getting the chance to make some part of that right. Somehow, that made everything else less important, at least right now. He would do anything to help Bucky, even if that meant hurting the other people he cared about in his life. So what did that say about him? He was pretty sure that, right now, he was far more sorry about recents events than Bucky ever could be.
“It’s alright, Buck.” Steve reassured him, again. “Don’t worry about that right now.”
Steve turned back around in his chair and faced the HUD again, decidedly ending the conversation. He heard Bucky let out a weak moan and he resisted the urge to get up and go comfort him. The best way he could help him right now was to find someplace to hide him. And fast.
Suddenly, over the din of the engines, Steve heard the chime of an incoming call. The display blinked red in front of him a few times. Steve set his jaw and reached out to answer the call by tapping the screen.
Instantly, the face of Wakanda’s king, T’Challa, filled the cockpit screen. Steve heard the frantic shifting of Bucky’s boots behind him, as if he was trying to stand. Steve quickly looked back and held up a hand toward his friend. He shook his head and saw Bucky’s terrified eyes blink back at him.
“Captain Rogers,” T’Challa said through the communicator. “I believe I owe you an apology.”
Steve looked at the screen, confused.
“I was wrong about your friend,” T’Challa clarified.
“Yes, you were,” Steve replied icily before he could stop himself. He heard Bucky grunt behind him and couldn’t help but look back at him again. Bucky’s eyes were closed now, his human fingers pressing at the edges of his ruined shoulder, as if trying to massage away the pain there.
“I hate to ask,” Steve said, turning back to the screen. “But I’m pretty desperate here—“
T’Challa nodded. “I have already sent coordinates to you, Captain. Please, bring your friend to us.”
Steve sighed with relief and nodded at the image of T’Challa. “Thank you,” Steve replied, sincerely. “Really.”
T’Challa smiled stoically and blink off the ship’s screen. Behind him, Bucky whined through clenched teeth.
“Alright, Buck,” Steve said, starting the flight sequence on the control board in front of him. “It’s alright.”